Family Ties
by FaithDaria
Summary: Joan of Arcadia/Supernatural crossover. Will and Helen Girardi take in two boys with the last name of Winchester as foster children.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Family Ties

Rating: teen

Summary: Joan of Arcadia/Supernatural crossover. Will and Helen Girardi take in two boys as foster children.

The crime scene was gruesome, one of the worst he'd seen, and Will had to force the coffee in his stomach to remain there. The victim was a man close to his own age, dark-haired and with a day's worth of stubble shadowing his jaw, and he had not died easy. There had been a bloody struggle up and down the alley before whoever he'd been fighting had ripped open the man's abdomen with a knife multiple times, the wounds left behind looking almost like they were made by claws. Even after that fatal blow, there was evidence that the man had tried to crawl toward the street, one hand trying and failing to hold in his guts. Thank God it was still early in the morning and hadn't gotten too warm yet, because the scene stank as it was.

The rookie with him when they were called to the scene had lost it early on, booting in the pitiful gravel 'landscaping' on the scene's periphery, and Will couldn't blame him. The young man had recovered by the time the forensics crew had arrived and had even pointed out his mess so that it wouldn't get collected as evidence.

The coroner and his assistant were careful as they moved the body, one doing the main part of the lifting while the other tried his best to keep the pieces together. Once they had it on the gurney, the coroner handed over an evidence bag. "No ID on the body, but he did have two sets of keys in his pocket. I'll get right on the autopsy."

Will looked at the keys while they loaded the body into the van and drove away. One set likely belonged to a car, probably parked somewhere in the vicinity. The other key was attached to a keychain with the name and address of a motel on the other side of town.

It was a place to start. The detective collected the rookie and headed out.

xxx

His job had taken him to all parts of the city, so of course he'd been to this section before. It was fairly well-known, honestly, though more infamous than famous. There was a certain type of clientele that lingered along the street corners of the surrounding area, making it clear what kind of business this particular motel usually catered to.

The owner started to sweat as soon as he saw the badges and was only too happy to open up the book and point out the resident of room four and giving them a description that matched their John Doe, minus the disembowelment. With the man's permission, Will and the rookie (and he really should make an effort to address the man by his name more often, but he had a feeling that this guy wasn't going to make it) were down the hall and opening up the room registered to John Winchester.

There was a rustle inside the room as the key slid into the lock, and Will tensed and brought up his weapon. It had been damned stupid of him not to have it up in the first place. The rookie had stopped moving at the noise, the key in place but unturned, and Will nodded for him to continue.

They nudged the door open slowly, both men standing out of the way until it was fully opened.

What Will saw as he glanced into the room made his insides clench painfully. There were two boys in the room. The smaller (and probably younger) one was tucked behind the older. The taller one, likely no older than ten, had a sawed-off shotgun nearly as big as he was in his arms.

"Where's my dad?" There was a squeaky growl in the boy's voice that would no doubt be intimidating in a few years. He had freckles and big green eyes and a scowl that belonged to a grown man.

Christ, this was the worst part of the job. There was no doubt in his mind that the boy's father was his John Doe, but he couldn't say anything for sure until there was a positive ID. Hopefully he wouldn't need to bring the kid in and have him identify the remains.

Will took a gamble on the goodness of the older child. He put his own handgun away. "Hey there. We're not here to hurt you. My name's Will."

"Where's my dad?" the boy repeated.

"What's your dad's name?" Will tried a different track.

The little boy behind tugged on his brother's shirt. "He has Dad's keys."

"Will you please put the gun down?" Will requested. "We don't want to hurt you."

"Where's my dad?" the boy's tone turned even fiercer. This time it was clearly a demand rather than a request.

"We're not sure. Do you have a picture of your father somewhere around?"

"Yep," the younger one chirped.

"Where is it?"

The little boy moved as if to show them, only to get shoved back by his older brother. With one arm occupied, the gun dipped. Will took advantage, snatched it out of the child's hands and removed the shells while carefully not thinking of everything that could have happened. He handed everything to the rookie and then, as an afterthought, he handed the rookie his own gun. Then he squatted on the ground near the boys, very carefully giving them a safety bubble.

"Let's try this again. My name is Will, what's yours?"

He got stubborn silence. Now the little one was fully hiding behind his brother.

"Where's the picture of your father?"

Nothing. Even the chatty younger brother (and Will could tell that these two were siblings) had buttoned up now. Will didn't take his eyes off the two boys in front of him, but he did address the rookie. "Spencer, take a look around. See if you can find anything that might help."

"You mean like this?" The younger man nudged a book with the toe of his boot. It had been hastily shoved under the edge of the bed but hadn't made it all the way.

"Don't touch that!" The older boy's silence was broken abruptly, that laser glare transferred from Will to Spencer. "That's my dad's journal, you can't touch it!"

"All right," Will soothed. "We won't touch it. But you have to help us out here. Something bad happened to a man earlier today. We need a picture so we can rule out your father."

"How bad?"

"Very bad."

"Then it can't be my dad," the boy said with bravado that Will had no problems seeing through. "He's a hero, and he always comes home."

Spencer chose that moment to interject. "There's a picture in the mirror, Will. Looks like those two and a guy." He raised his eyebrows, expression solemn, and Will knew that the photograph matched their John Doe. He turned back to the older boy and saw that he had caught and interpreted the expression as well.

It was like flicking a switch. All the fierceness melted away and Will's opponent melted into a ten-year-old boy. The first-grader, still tucked away behind his apparent brother, wrapped his arms around the older boy's waist, obviously picking up on the undercurrent in the room. "Dean," he wailed. "Something's wrong, Dean."

Dean looked torn, reluctant to turn his back on Will but clearly wanting to turn around and cling to his younger brother. Will stood up and stepped away from both of them, giving them the illusion of privacy while he stepped over to talk with the rookie. "Call Social Services, let them know the situation. We're going to have to do a search of the room, see if we can find something a little more positive than a family snapshot."

"And if we don't?" Spencer had clearly picked up on the same thing as Will; this was a family that lived on the fringes of society. There was a possibility that there was no real, legitimate identification in the room.

Will sighed. "The older boy will need to I.D. the body if the prints aren't in the system. Really don't want to do that. When the social worker shows up, I'll stay with the boys. You go ahead and pull this room apart."

It ended up going exactly the way Will had feared it would. Spencer was unable to find any type of photo I.D., other than one rather well-made forgery of an FBI badge. They did find birth certificates tucked away in the journal that Dean had kept away from them earlier, but nothing that could be used to confirm the identity of the John Doe in the morgue. This meant that Will escorted Dean down and supported the boy while he stoically looked at the body and said, "Yes, that's my dad. That's John Winchester." Then Dean turned away and Will watched the strong façade crumble and break. He clutched the photo from the motel mirror of how his family used to be.

Will hustled the boy back upstairs and to his brother, who started sobbing the instant he saw Dean's face. He stayed with the two of them while the social worker took care of the immediate paperwork and called Helen to let her know what was coming.

It made life easier on the force if there were officers registered as foster parents. Sometimes when children were involved in an incident and needed to be removed to safety it happened at strange hours of the night and no one wanted to wait for Family Services at 3 a.m. Since Will already had children at home he'd gotten qualified some time ago, so the mechanics of moving the apparently orphaned (and freshly traumatized) children to his home for at least a night or two wouldn't be difficult. The hard part would probably be getting Helen to let go of them. He had a feeling the Winchesters would be staying with them for a while.

It took Will about a month to relax and let his guard down around the Winchester boys. The case concerning their father had no new clues. Will never did find John Winchester's car and he had to have a car. Eventually the case was relegated Cold, all the personal effects boxed up and stored for the boys to go through at a later date. Will concentrated on new cases and Dean and Sammy. They were good kids and they'd managed to help wean Joan away from her imaginary friend by providing both playmates and a distraction, but he had a hard time putting aside the image of the boy with a weapon pointed toward him.

That mental picture gradually faded, however, and memories of that same boy patiently playing with his preschool-age daughter and helping Kevin and Sam build a solid, functional treehouse fort slowly began to replace it. He was even good with Luke, keeping the baby entertained and out of trouble while also playing with toddler Joan.

Sam and Kevin got along surprisingly well. The were only a year apart and after some initial posturing about sharing Dean as a big brother the two became partners in crime. Will and Helen had quickly learned that the younger Winchester was very, very creative when it came to exploring things around him.

Going from three children to five practically overnight sounded like a big change, especially when one added in the recommended weekly sessions with a therapist, but Dean was good at keeping the younger children in line. Helen figured out early on that Dean did best when he was kept busy. Her initial impulse was to let him play rather than give him chores or expect him to watch over the others, especially Joan and Luke, but Dean could find trouble in ten minutes or less when left to his own devices. He had to have a task to focus on or he would quickly become bored. School wasn't enough to keep him occupied, and they couldn't really afford after-school classes. Eventually Helen gave in to the inevitable and started giving him more work and responsibility.

When summer ended and it was time for school, Helen took the two boys in for placement tests. They weren't terribly worried about Sam; the kid was already way too smart for his own good. Six years old going on thirty, some of the time. Dean, though, was a little harder to puzzle out. Will suspected he was much smarter than he let on, given how well he'd designed the treehouse out back, but he didn't really like to read and he was scornful of school being able to teach him anything useful.

He didn't need to worry. Dean came through the testing with flying colors, scoring so high in math and science that it was a surprise to all of them. His reading comprehension came in lower, but they were still surprisingly satisfactory for a child who didn't really care for reading. Dean would have no problems whatsoever with fifth grade, at least academically.

Sam was entering first grade, though he probably could have skipped it and gone straight to second if Helen hadn't been worried about socialization. Kevin, of course, was ready for second grade and even seemed a little excited about returning to school. Will chalked that up to having two brothers in the school now. He'd really taken to having an older brother, though Will suspected that Dean might be teaching his son some of the rudimentary fighting skills the boy's own father had apparently seen fit to impart on his elementary-age son. Kevin was a very physical boy and he was no doubt salivating at the opportunity to learn new skills.

They should have been expecting something when all three of them started the new school year, but the smooth transition so far had lulled them all into a sense of security. Dean made it almost a week before Helen got the phone call and bundled up Joan and Luke and headed over to the school.

He was sitting in the so-called 'seat of shame,' the one that faced the secretary desk and was right next to the principal's private office. Joan broke away from her mother the moment they got into the office and ran to her new favorite brother. Dean looked up when she attempted to scramble up into his lap and Helen gasped at the bruise on her boy's cheek.

"What happened?"

He didn't try to smile or charm her; they'd already gotten past that early on. Helen's father had been full of that good-natured charm and she was immune to its pull. "Pretty sure they're going to want to be the ones to talk to you."

Joan tugged on his arm. "I want to sit with you," she insisted, and Dean gave in to the inevitable and allowed her up into his lap. She perched there and studied his face intently. "What happened?"

Dean did laugh at that question, and probably at the fierce little frown his little sister was giving him, but the joy was gone pretty quickly. "Don't worry about it, kiddo. Did you have fun with your Mom today?"

Joan was still frowning and was reaching one little hand to poke at his cheek, so Helen intervened. "Joan, why don't you sit here with Luke and play with your toys while Dean and I talk, all right?"

"No." It wasn't shouted out and her normally sunny-natured toddler was not throwing a rare temper tantrum. She was simply refusing to move and Dean was letting her poke at the bruise without any sign of pain. Luke was squirming and clearly wanting to get down and move around, and between the two of them and the situation Helen wanted to tear her hair out. This was why people put their children into day care and went to work. No office job could possibly be as stressful as dealing with two headstrong toddlers and their three older brothers.

Dean picked up on her mood and shifted Joan to one side so he could take Luke as well. "I got in a fight," he admitted quietly, his eyes focused on Joan as she alternated her attention between Dean's face and Luke. She kept touching it with her small, chubby hand and Dean didn't stop her.

"How did it get started?" Helen knew that Dean had promised Will that he would behave in school, and he wasn't the kind of kid that went back on those promises. Whatever had prompted this fight was something worth exploring.

His mouth clamped shut in a sadly familiar way and Helen sighed. There would be no further explanations from Dean, at least for the moment. She'd learned that much about him over the past few months. For someone who loved to talk, when he clammed up it took concentrated, gentle effort to get him to open back up, especially to adults. He was better with the kids, especially Sammy and Joan, but even with those two Helen had seen him go completely quiet.

The principal here was a woman, maybe ten years older than Helen, and while she looked at the two small children with a frown when she ushered them into the office she didn't make any kind of suggestion about leaving Joan and Luke outside. That was good. It meant that Helen could save the energy that argument would waste and use it to protect Dean. She faced the woman, sitting behind the desk, and waited for the woman to speak.

A tall, lean young man slipped into the room and Principal Sullivan smiled. "This is Mr. Murphy, our school counselor. He witnessed the altercation and I thought he would provide valuable input to our discussion."

"Can someone please tell me what happened?" Helen asked, a little fed up with the run around she was getting.

"Jason Kilgore pushed Dean into the support for the swings after a verbal argument," Murphy said matter-of-factly. "Neither one of the boys are willing to talk about the argument, and Dean is not in much trouble."

Helen wanted to ask if Dean had fought back, but she didn't want to open that particular can of worms just yet. Instead she turned to the ten-year-old next to her. "What was the argument about?"

Dean was silent, his lips thin with the effort to keep his mouth shut, and Helen sighed. She didn't want to push him. It typically didn't work well with Dean. He needed to be coaxed rather than forced. Fortunately, some part of his brain apparently pointed out that Helen was on his side. "He called me foster trash."

"And?"

"And I told him he was a shithead and an asshole who was going to end up pumping gas for a living," he said wearily. He glanced down at the two little kids playing on the floor. "Sorry."

All of their efforts to get Dean to clean up his language had entirely failed at this point. The only concession he seemed to make was to try not to curse around Joan or Luke. "What happened to make him push you?"

"Nothing after that." His eyes lit up a little with anger. "I started to walk away and that jackass got in a sucker shot." There was another look at the little ones. "Sorry."

Helen sighed, because while he still didn't watch his language around adults he was at least trying with the kids. "It's all right, Dean. Did you go after Jason before he called you that name?"

"Never said a word to him," Dean said. "It's pretty obvious he's a jerk. I don't need that kind of hassle."

She nodded and turned to the principal. "Are you punishing the other student?"

"Jason will be serving in-school suspension. We're still trying to decide what to do with Dean."

Helen felt her back straighten. "Excuse me? You're going to punish my son for something that he didn't start?"

"He used inappropriate language," the principal began, and Helen cut him off.

"And we will handle that punishment. Dean's been working on that and he'll continue working on curbing his language. What matters here is that Jason is the one who called my son a name with no provocation and Jason is the one who pushed him. You will not be punishing my child for defending himself against one of your students." She stood up, leaning down to scoop up Luke because he wasn't terribly steady on his feet just yet, and Dean did the same for Joan without prompting. "I'll be keeping him home from school for the rest of the week while he heals. I assume you'll allow him to collect his homework?"

"Of course," the principal said, her face a mask of understanding. Helen nodded and marched out of the office, Dean following in her wake. The expression of frank admiration he was giving her made her feel a little warmer inside. Dean was the hardest of her children to read and she sometimes felt like she didn't understand him at all, but she had fallen in love with both him and Sam just like she loved Kevin and Joan and Luke.

They stopped at his homeroom and picked up his backpack, speaking with the teacher to get his assignments for the rest of the week, and were out of the building in ten minutes. "That was awesome," Dean breathed out once they were safely away from the school, his smile incandescent in the fall sunshine.

"Glad you appreciated it," Helen said, huffing a little as she carried Luke into the car. He was getting a little too heavy and solid for her to easily carry him, but letting him walk would take too much time. They needed to do something for lunch and then get back to the school to pick up Kevin and Sam. Without Dean on the school bus they would get a little confused and she wanted to avoid that if at all possible. "You'll be writing an essay on why foul language is a sign of poor intelligence and a lack of creativity when we get home, and helping me with the laundry in addition to your regular chores. But I'm really proud that you walked away from the confrontation. I know that was hard for you."

Dean shrugged. "Kid was a jerk. That's no reason to get in trouble for decking him. I managed to get in trouble anyway."

She bucked Luke into his car seat while Dean did the same for Joan on the other side of the car. "Someday you'll learn to watch your language. Until then, you'll get some practice at those essays. It'll come in handy when you're applying for college."

xxx

The therapist that Sam and Dean had been seeing had suggested some sort of activity to help give Dean focus, which Helen thought was a good suggestion even if the last thing Dean really needed was focus. Dean had such complete tunnel vision sometimes that it was almost frightening. A class to help him burn some of his excess energy, though, or to give him a little structure in his life, would definitely be appreciated.

Dean acted indifferent to the proposal, but she could see the underlying excitement when she mentioned the possibility of a tae kwon do class. That had actually been the man's first suggestion, followed by team sports to help him learn how to work with other children, which for Dean meant baseball.

Sam had received the same recommendation and had immediately latched onto the prospect of playing soccer and taking martial arts classes, and for the ease of things she enrolled Kevin alongside him. It meant she spent more time than she really wanted driving around to practices and classes, but Sam beamed at her with that smile when he climbed in all sweaty from soccer practice and Kevin followed behind with a bright grin and she couldn't regret it at all.

The martial arts classes seemed to settle something in Dean, who was always the most tumultuous of her kids. He tolerated baseball, enjoying the physical exertion but not really bonding with the other boys who played, but tae kwon do was apparently exactly what he'd been needing since he'd showed up on her doorstep. Kevin and Sam stayed pretty much level with each other in class rank, but Dean was apparently picking up what he learned pretty quickly. So quickly, in fact, that one afternoon she walked into the family room and found Dean trying to teach three-year-old Joan some very basic moves.

Tae Kwon Do very nearly vanished after that incident, but her oldest boy managed to make a compelling case and Helen relented. She didn't even put up a fuss when he continued to teach her daughter what he was learning, with conditional success. Joan never used what she was being taught against Luke or any of the kids her age that she had contact with and Helen was aware that she couldn't really ask for more.

Dean settled into school once he started taking classes and Helen was grateful for that. The discipline seemed to be exactly what he needed. He wasn't at the top of his class, but he wasn't far from it, and when semester reports came out in January Dean had nothing lower than a B. There was a note about his occasionally disrespectful attitude, but they were working on that and it wasn't something that she worried about.

Sam had straight A's across the board and seemed to be universally adored by his teachers, something Helen could understand. He'd adjusted to their family and the new school so well that she sometimes had difficulty remembering that the Winchesters had only been with them since the summer before. Will had shared the meager file that CPS had managed to dredge up with her and it made her doubly determined to watch out for the two of them. Someone had to, after all.

xxx

Will had been having nightmares about something like this from the instant he became a father. It was the reason he'd invested in a sturdy gun safe and the reason that he never wore his weapon in the house. He'd just seen too many bad things happen with unsecured weapons to even consider doing anything else.

Unfortunately, Spencer the rookie didn't have children and ten years of experience under his belt. The two of them had crashed at the Girardi house after working a double shift and for some reason Will hadn't even considered offering his gun safe for the man's weapon. It hadn't occurred to Spencer either, who apparently slept with his gun under his pillow when at his own apartment. Will's heart was pounding as he watched his three-year-old son turn the weapon over in his hands despite the fact that it was almost too heavy for him, no doubt trying to figure out how it worked. Luke was a curious kid. His small fingers were close enough to the trigger that Will didn't dare make any sudden moves. He didn't trust his own temper not to go off right now if he got close; his nerves were tight as piano wire. Any loud sounds would probably have startled Luke into pulling the trigger.

Dean was the one who approached him, sliding gradually into Luke's line of sight and staying on the floor. "Where'd you get that, buddy?"

"Found it." Luke looked up, grateful as always that someone was paying attention to him. Will squashed the pang of guilt back and focused on the situation. He would think about how badly he ignored Luke later.

"If you give it to me, I'll show you how it works later."

Will gritted his teeth at the softly spoken promise. The last thing he wanted, ever again, was Luke getting within ten feet of a gun. He was aware that he'd have to change professions to make that happen, but that didn't stop the impulse.

Luke seemed to be considering it, taking one last longing look at the device in his hands before handing it to Dean. Dean took it smoothly, gently, continuing to not make any quick movements. He stood up and turned to Spencer, who had gone ghost-white, and removed the clip and the bullet in the pipe with sure movements before handing it over. "Maybe you should take better care of your things," he said neutrally. He was gone up the stairs before anyone else could say a word.

Will scooped up his youngest into a tight hug, the images of what could have happened still stark when he closed his eyes. Luke squirmed, unsure of what was prompting all of this. From his point of view he had probably only been doing what he always did: exploring his surroundings.

He turned toward Helen, not yet ready to face Spencer without saying a million things that he didn't want his kids to hear and that he wasn't entirely sure the man deserved. She had Joan held tightly in her arms, Kevin and Sam at her feet. Sam had his small, slim hands on Kevin's shoulders, no doubt to keep him from doing something impulsive, and for one odd moment Will was grateful for the strange way John Winchester had raised his sons. Dean (and Sam, probably) had saved Luke's life today. There was simply no way his curious son wouldn't have pulled the trigger in his exploration of the gun.

Once he'd dragged Spencer outside for a few scathing words and sent the man on his way, Will headed upstairs and into the small bedroom that Dean called his own. Dean was sitting on the floor with a comic book, flipping through the pages but clearly not getting terribly involved in the storyline. He didn't abandon the book when Will came into the room, instead keeping his eyes firmly fixed on it as Will sighed and sat down on the bed. "We've never talked about this," he said.

Dean still refused to look up. "What's to talk about? You knew you were getting some weird skill sets when you took us in."

"Your father taught you how to handle a gun." He stated it as fact, rather than a question. It was fairly obvious that the boy knew how to disarm a gun like it was second nature and Will had certainly never taught him that.

Dean shifted his shoulders and finally set the comic book aside. "What do you really want to know, Will?"

"We could start with the truth."

The kid snorted out a laugh. He stood up from the floor and headed to his desk chair. "Yeah, Dad taught me how to shoot. He took me out to an empty field when I was six and handed me a Raven .25 automatic. I shot down every can he set up before he would let me leave."

"Jesus," Will said, scrubbing his hand over his face. "I thought you were just bluffing with the shotgun when we met."

"By the time I was seven, one of my chores was cleaning my dad's guns. He was training me on the Colt 1911 and the shotgun when I was nine."

"Jesus," Will repeated. He thought of every statistic he'd ever seen involving guns and children. "Why would he do that?"

"I needed to be able to take care of Sammy," Dean said, shrugging. "I was going to ask you if I could get one when you were a little more used to us."

"Ask again when you're sixteen and it's a little more legal," Will returned.

Dean nodded thoughtfully and Will realized that he would need to be resigned to the idea of purchasing Dean something when the boy was exactly sixteen. Hopefully if he allowed that Dean wouldn't sneak around behind his back and pick up something illegally. "And thank you for getting the gun away from Luke. Please don't use the real thing when you're explaining it to him later."

"Do you think he'll be able to understand it?"

Will was a little surprised that Dean evidently understood it, but for all he knew that was part of gun safety under John Winchester. "I wouldn't put it past him. We all know Luke's way too smart for his own good."

"Him and Sammy," Dean agreed. "Sam was always asking too many questions about what Dad did for a living."

Will was curious about that as well, since he'd never gotten a definitive answer, but it was clear from Dean's expression that the boy had already decided he'd said too much. He wouldn't be getting anything else from him today.

xxx

School was over for the summer before any of them were really prepared and Dean fell into his familiar role as caretaker with the added distraction of baseball and tae kwon do. Things were a little easier here and it was starting to hurt a little less that his dad was gone. Sometimes it made him feel guilty, how happy he was here. It was nice, having a houseful of people to call family, and he wouldn't have any of it if his dad hadn't died. He'd never done this well in school before now, either, and Sammy had a lot more people to help watch out for him. Dean felt safe here and he wanted to return the favor, so he did the only things his father had taught him: he watched out for the littler kids (all four of them) and he kept an eye on the salt lines. That second one was a little trickier since Helen actually seemed to like sweeping the house, but he'd figured out ways to lay things out in a more permanent fashion with the help of some duct tape.

Kevin and Sammy spent most of their free time in the tree house they'd built last summer, scrambling up the tree trunk every morning and staying up there until lunch time at the very least. It would be nice to feel that free, but Dean couldn't shake the responsibilities he'd picked up and he settled for watching out for Joan and Luke. Those two were surprising fun to play with and most of the time he didn't miss the company of kids his own age. Joan would drag anyone into her games, regardless of what they actually wanted, and was adorable enough to get away with it most of the time. Luke was overshadowed by his sister's energy, but he usually went along with her games and play-acting. He ended up playing the villain a little more often than Dean, mostly because it meant he could jump on his sister and laugh his version of an evil laugh. To Joan's credit, she never used the fighting skills Dean had started to teach her earlier in the year even though he knew she remembered them. She did give as good as she got, though, and it left Dean being the responsible one a little more often than he liked.

When it rained Sam and Kevin let the two littler kids play 'the floor is lava' with them, a game that was entirely uncomplicated and way too much fun for an eleven-year-old to be having. Sammy was the best at it of all of them, nimble and quick and good at balancing on the arm of a couch. That made Dean's chest swell with pride.

Helen packed them all up in a station wagon and trundled them to the public library once a week. They all had library cards in their own names and every single one of them was expected to get out at least three books a week to read on his own. It should have been Dean's least favorite part of the week, but even this was more enjoyable than Dean had expected. He'd never liked reading all that much, but apparently that was because the books they made him read at school were boring. The children's librarian at the library they visited had good suggestions and managed to find books that were fun.

The summer flew past in a haze of games and reading and martial arts classes and playing with his younger siblings. It was probably the most fun Dean had ever had and he was sorry to see it go when school started up and he entered sixth grade.

It turned out that sixth grade wasn't much different from fifth grade, with the exception that he was now in a different school from Sammy and Kevin. The different school buildings made it a little harder to keep an eye out for his little brothers, but he mostly managed by wrangling out reports from each one about the other. Kevin would never have brought his problems to Dean, but he had absolutely no problem talking about Sam's issues, and Sam was pretty much the same to Kevin. It wasn't a perfect system, since the two of them were a grade apart, but it was better than nothing.

He didn't even want to consider what it would be like next year when Joan started kindergarten. He couldn't imagine anyone having any sort of difficulties with his sweetheart of a baby sister, but some people were bound to misunderstand her. Dean hoped she could handle the female side of things, since he wouldn't be able to defend her against four-year-old girls. Sam would be on tap to take care of the boys, and Dean would be there to intimidate them all if she needed him. It would have to be enough. There was more than enough to worry him without needing to battle preschoolers as well.

For one thing, Joan's imaginary friend had reappeared and apparently changed from a little girl to something a little harder to pin down. Just the idea of it made Dean nervous. Sam had never had an imaginary friend and Dean could see all of the ways that a restless spirit could get to a kid like Joan in just such a way. The variable appearance made him feel a little better, actually, because that wasn't typical ghost behavior. It was probably just Joan being creative, exactly like Helen said, but Dean probably wouldn't rest easily until this particular phase was safely over.

His school classes and fun classes kept him pretty busy, especially when paired with the added burden of keeping his new family safe from things that none of them believed in. Dean didn't really have a break until school closed for Christmas and then he was caught up in the whirlwind of planning that Christmas with the Girardi family required.

He was in the middle of assembling a model car that he was planning on giving to Sam when Helen knocked on the door to his small room. She waited for him to give her permission before she slipped into the room, closing the door behind her and sitting down on the bed. "I wanted to talk to you," she said.

Dean frantically combed back over the past day or so. He didn't think he'd done anything majorly wrong, though he was fairly sure that the salt lines would irritate Helen if she caught him refreshing them. "Is everything all right?" he asked, trying his best to be cautious.

"Everything's fine," she replied. "Will and I have been talking and we were wondering what would you think if we decided to adopt you and Sam."

For a moment the entire world froze. Dean couldn't breathe because his mind needed even that small amount of energy to process what she'd just told him. Sam was already calling Helen and Will Mom and Dad, but Dean couldn't quite make that step. It was different for him, in a lot of ways. For him, 'Mom' would always be a blond woman who'd loved him and fed him pie and played matchbox cars with him, and 'Dad' was forever and always John Winchester. He didn't think he could give that up.

At the same time, though, the idea of leaving Kevin and Joan and Luke made his heart clench. Sam was so happy here. Hell, he was happy here. Will didn't let him keep a weapon on hand, but he was probably going to get him a gun at some point down the line. Helen made awesome pie and didn't try to push him into being some little perfect suburban clown. And of course, he had a houseful of siblings to watch over and protect. Who would do that for them if he was gone?

Something in his expression must have clued her in, because Helen's hopeful look fell. "It's all right," she said, reaching out and pulling him into a hug. He allowed it, even welcomed it a little. "I won't make you let them go, Dean. And you and Sam won't have to leave." There was a watery smile and a second, tighter hug that he returned. "Just as long as you know you'll always be my boy."

Dean clutched at her for a second more before relaxing. "Thanks," he mumbled into her neck.

The topic was never brought up again.


	2. Chapter 2

The day after Dean's eighteenth birthday, Will went to work. He had been catching up on paperwork when Spencer stopped at his desk.

"So the kid's going to solve his father's case when we couldn't?" he started the conversation.

Will looked at his former rookie and blinked. "What?"

"Your oldest foster kid, he turned eighteen."

"Yesterday."

"Well, he came in here with his driver's license today and insisted on all his father's personal affects," Spencer said. "He got the run-around from Evidence, but he managed to walk out of here with everything."

"Thanks for letting me know." Will should have seen it coming. It made perfect sense. Will should have submitted the paperwork last week. That would have made it easier for Dean, smoothed the way with Evidence. The boy hadn't even stopped by Will's desk to say hi. Dean had to know that the gossip would get to him before the day was out. Will didn't think Dean was being defiant or sneaky; he simply wanted the connection to his father. The box of evidence would have made for a decent birthday present for a kid who rarely asked for anything for himself. Helen would have vetoed it as a gift to give at the party, because of the emotional ramifications, but they could have given it to Dean later. Dean would have liked that.

Too late for that now.

Will would have to sit down and talk with Dean. He didn't think he wanted to include Helen initially. He would definitely inform her before bed that night. This was not something he wanted to discuss over the phone, so Will buckled down and concentrated on his paperwork. He left as soon as he was able.

Will caught the faint smell of turpentine as he walked in the door to home. Helen was painting in the garage so he would have a few moments with Dean. Will went straight the room claimed by his foster sons. The door was firmly shut and Will knocked and announced himself.

There was no response.

"Dean," he called softly. "We have to talk, now."

"Yeah," Dean answered.

Will took that to mean 'permission granted' and opened the door. Dean was on his bed with the evidence box beside him. He was systematically separating out the contents. The journal was already on Dean's bedside table, right next to the family photo Will had handed him a day after his father's murder. John Winchester's brown leather jacket was hanging on the edge of the bed. In Dean's hands was a silver knife.

Will immediately stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. The slight movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention to Sam. At fourteen, he was all angles and hormones. He was perched in the furthest corner of his bed 'doing homework.' He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

Will nodded toward the door, but Sam, ever perverse, shook his head. "I should be here." Will recognized that jut of his chin; Sam had made his choice and was not going to change his mind. Will accepted that and sat on the edge of Sam's bed, close enough that he could place a hand on Sam's shoulder. It was correct gesture as Sam's posture relaxed.

Dean was not as easy. He would accept physical demonstrations from Helen and the kids, but he was stiff with Will.

"I would have helped you," Will said to Dean. "I just honestly didn't think about it."

Dean shrugged and set aside the knife. He dug around the box for a moment. Will wondered what he remembered when he saw the contents. What did Sam remember? Will remembered packing that box eight years ago, more than any other box he packed that year, but still the contents were hazy.

He remembered… "Dean, where's the shotgun?"

"Gun?" Dean echoed innocently.

Will had had all of his children try to lie to him over the years and had a look just for the occasion. Dean considered repeating the lie, but respected Will too much. "It's secure."

Will would bet that it wasn't secure in the house gun safe. Dean's ideas of secure sometimes exceeded Will's, but they were in no means conventional. "Okay, two rules: one, Helen doesn't find out. Two, I want to see for myself that it is secure."

Dean scooted to the edge of his bed and held out his hand like a man, "Deal."

Will shook Dean's hand and sighed with relief. He looked around the room. "So where is it?"

"In the car."

"In the car?" Dean had scraped up the money from his after school job for the beater, but he kept it running better than most used cars. On several occasions, when the family car had broken down, Dean's car was always available for use. It also meant that his younger siblings were often in that car.

Dean grinned, showing a little pride in his solution. "Someone could steal my car and make it their own and never find the gun."

In spite of himself, Will was intrigued. He glanced at his watch. "Can you show me before we need to start dinner?" Since Will was home slightly early, he really should get dinner going and give Helen more time with her paints.

Dean nodded and stood up. He followed Will to the door, pausing only to ask, "Sammy?"

Will waited to witness Sam's refusal. Sam looked as conflicted over Dean's actions as Will was. That decided, Will and Dean tromped outside. Dean had backed into his parking space. Like a cop, Dean's parking jobs always ensure a quick start to the emergency. In this case, it meant that the trunk was up against the house and no one would be able to see the contents without looking directly over Dean's shoulder. Dean unlocked the trunk and stood back. Will could see no gun and no alterations to the trunk indicating a secret compartment. He searched as methodically as a cop and still didn't find it.

"I'm impressed," he admitted.

Dean opened his wallet and took out a flat metal… tool. It had been cut to this specific shape. He inserted it into a hole in the underside of the trunk hood and twisted. Will heard a 'click' and the fabric covering dropped down. The shotgun was nestled firmly in the foam.

Dean immediately pushed the fabric into place and locked it. He put the homemade key –that didn't look anything like a conventional key- into his wallet and closed the trunk.

"It's smaller than I remember," Will mused. It had seemed so big in the child's hands. It represented the distrust that Dean had had for Will, but now Dean was family and he had made no motions to moving out now that he was eighteen. He was family for life.

Dean smirked at him sideways. "That was my first impression too."

Will clapped Dean on the shoulder, like he would any of his other boys and Dean didn't stiffen with rejection. "Come on, we've got to get the sauce started."

Dean nodded and let Will lead him into the house. Will just had to figure out a way to tell Helen about everything but the gun.

xxx

It was one o'clock in the afternoon the day after her oldest adoptive son had graduated from high school. Helen knew that he had partied well after the adults had gone to bed, but still, Dean was the responsible sort. He knew that he had chores that he had to do before he left for his part-time job in a couple of hours.

Helen glanced up the stairs again and shook her head. He was an adult. She would wake him twenty minutes before he had to be at work. Sam came in from outside and caught her looking upstairs again.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked. Sam exhibited the male stereotype that if there was a problem then he would fix it now. Dean was even worse; he went looking for his family's problems so that they could be fixed before maximum damage could occur.

Helen smiled. "Your brother is just being lazy."

"Dean?" Sam asked.

Helen nodded and started walking away.

"You don't know…" Sam's voice dropped off hesitantly and a sliver of fear chilled her bones. She turned back to face her younger foster son. He straightened and lifted his chin somewhat defensively. As much love and loyalty as they gave the family, Sam and Dean still didn't expect an equal measure of love and loyalty in return. Dean was worse than Sam.

"Samuel," Helen said. "Where is Dean?"

"Gone."

Helen knew that all the blood drained from her face. "Where? Why?"

Sam shrugged a little. He didn't entirely understand it either. "He went looking for Dad's friends."

Helen was sitting. She didn't know when she had reached out for a chair. "Why would he do that?" Dean and Sam rarely mentioned their biological father.

Another shrug. "He wants answers."

"He couldn't do that over the phone from here?"

"He said he couldn't."

Helen wanted to ask why Dean hadn't told them (asked them) about his plans. They wouldn't have let Dean go off by himself. "What about his job?" she asked. It wasn't the question she wanted to ask. She didn't want to know if Dean was coming home or if Sam would join him out in the middle of the country doing God knows what when he graduated.

"Mr. Anton said that if Dean got back into for his annual Fourth of July Family reunion, Dean would get a dollar an hour raise and as many hours as he could work around college."

Helen breathed out a huge sigh of relief. "So he is coming back."

"Of course. Though he's not sure if he'll be back by July. It's going to be close."

"Okay…. Okay." Helen would have an emotional blow up later and with Will. "Is he going to stay in touch?"

"It would have been easier if Dean had a cell phone," Sam chided.

Helen didn't wince but didn't glare as effectively as she wished either. Yes, she had been the one to veto the cell phone as an unnecessary expense when Dean had broached the subject at Christmas, but she hadn't guessed that one of her kids would just run off the day after graduation. She didn't pretend that this hadn't been the plan for months. Dean had flatly refused any graduation party later in the month. The plan could have even in the works for years. Every part of this reminded Helen of how Dean had went about getting his father's personal effects. He could have asked Will for assistance, but instead had done it all on his own. Helen hadn't found out until after the fact. The more Helen thought about it, the more she realized that this trip was just a belated fallout from whatever Dean had found in the police box. Dean didn't talk about his father much and his mother not at all, but Helen knew that he remembered both. Dean would still need the clues from the personal effects to find his father's friends. Sam barely remembered his biological dad and had never known his mother, but he would support Dean in almost any endeavor.

"When Dean does call, please keep him on the phone until I can talk to him?" She asked Sam.

Sam shrugged; the fourteen year old wasn't sure why she was putting up a fuss.

"He's going to eat horribly on the road," Helen murmured more to herself.

Now Sam grinned. He knew his brother's horrible eating habits as well as she did. "You can fill him up with greens when he gets back."

"Don't think that I won't."

"He'll be fine," Sam offered. "He took his gun."

That didn't reassure Helen in the least. She'd never been terribly comfortable with the idea of her son owning a gun, even if it spent the majority of its time in the gun safe. "Why would he take the gun?"

"He didn't tell me. He said it was just in case."

"Just in case of I_what_/I?" Helen questioned and then realized that she was interrogating the wrong son. "I am having words with that boy as soon as he returns."

Sam looked hesitant. "He is a man now," he finally said.

"He may be a man to the rest of the world, but he will always be I_my_/I boy," Helen retorted.

"You might want to start your yelling at Dean with that fact," Sam advised drily.

Helen relaxed, which had probably been Sam's goal. "I'm sure it will come up." She sighed, "I should have taken him to the therapist more often."

"It wouldn't have helped," Sam was quick to tell her. "If they had kept on asking him questions, he would have shut down completely and never let any of us back in. He told me once that he stopped talking for a year after Mom died. I think the shrinks would have made him fall back on his familiar coping mechanism."

Helen stared at Sam. Why did Dean have to leave before she learned all this about her oldest adopted son? She'd always known that Dean kept his mouth shut about things that mattered, but she didn't know how long he'd been going with that particular habit.

Sam reached a hand out and covered hers. "Dean will be okay. He's looking for Uncle Bobby and Pastor Jim. Knowing Dean, he'll find them. I know he will."

Sam had such earnest eyes. Helen found herself trusting him. She finally breathed deep and relaxed. Sam smiled. Helen pointed her free hand at her boy. "This does not mean that Dean is off the hook. At all. He still should have talked about this and… and… told us that he wanted to find out about his father. Will could have helped him."

Sam was still smiling but now he was hiding secrets. For some reason, they didn't want to involve Will. "Dean will be fine."

"Sam! Sam!" Luke was yelling just outside the door. "Are you coming?"

"I'm coming," Sam called back. He reached over to the table and grabbed the binoculars. He paused at the doorway. "Dean will be just fine. He knows how to take care of himself." Then he was gone.

"That's what I'm worried about," Helen said to the empty room.

xxx

Rumsfeld was barking.

Robert Singer didn't hear the car engine until a second later. He grabbed his shotgun. If it was a customer, they could forgive him. If it was a Hunter, they'd understand. If it was evil, they had better run for the hills. That noisy dog was given the run of the junk yard so that Bobby would have a dependable early warning system. He and the dog were waiting on the porch when the older Chrysler braked in front of them. The dog quietly waited for further instruction.

No screeching brakes, no squealing engine. Chances were good that this was not a client. The car wasn't a classic, but it was well-cared for. A man –no, he was just a kid despite his height- stepped out of the car. Bobby's first impression was pretty boy. He was wearing durable, dirty clothes. Either a mechanic looking for something for a client, or a hunter. Something evil was always a possibility. He was young for a hunter on his own. The kid was looking around. He was either cataloguing the car parts available, or a hunter looking for the various demon traps scattered through the property.

Finally, the kid met Bobby's eyes. Bobby was surprised by the I_wistfulness_/I he saw there. If he was evil, he was damn good at looking not.

"What do you want?" he barked.

"Uncle Bobby?"

Bobby blinked. Then he cocked his gun. "Who the hell are you?"

Dimples flashed as the kid raised his hands half-way. He was so damn cock-sure of himself. He almost didn't need to say his name. "Dean Winchester."

Bobby's eyes flicked to a certain tarped car in the shadows of the barn. Dean's eyes followed.

Dean was quick to recognize the shape. He brightened immediately. "Yes! You kept her."

Bobby was ninety-percent sure that Dean was who he said he was from that alone. "ID," he commanded.

Dean rolled his eyes but reached into his back pocket for his wallet. He pulled out two photo IDs: his driver's license and a community college ID and stepped forward to hand them to Bobby. Both IDs were issued in Maryland. That was where Bobby had found the car. He had been stonewalled by child services in that state too while looking for the boys. It had taken a little B&E at the state office to find their location, a cop's house. Seeing that they were together and not abused, Bobby had decided to leave them there. They had a chance to grow up without worrying about things in the dark. The last thing he had expected was for a Winchester boy to show up on his porch.

"Where's Sam?" Bobby asked gruffly.

Dean's eyes dimmed. "He's fine, but he didn't want to come. He's still mad at Dad. And Helen would have thrown a fit."

Bobby finally uncocked the gun and jerked his head at John's boy to follow. Dean did and made sure to stomp his boots outside the door so as not to track any dirt. Some woman –probably Helen, if he remembered correctly- had trained him well. Bobby waited until the boy had tossed back a shot glass of holy water before returning Dean's IDs. "Why are you here?"

"I haven't forgotten about what my dad did," Dean pronounced. "I just haven't had the opportunity to learn what I need to protect my family. Dad always thought that the thing that killed Mom was more interested in Sam than in Mom. I need to read his journal and see how far he got." Those green eyes met Bobby's hopefully. "Unless someone else got the son of a bitch?"

Bobby shook his head. "I don't think so." He could have lied, but Dean would have insisted on proof. And if Sam did get killed by supernatural means, well, hell hath no fury like a Winchester betrayed. Dean reminded Bobby of John, only without all the jagged edges. He had a feeling that not disturbing the two of them eight years ago had been the right choice.

Dean nodded decisively. "I need everything you can teach me about monsters. Oh and I need Pastor Jim's address. Finding a Robert that owned a big junk yard in South Dakota was easier than finding a James that's a pastor in Minnesota. I don't know if I'd have been able to do it if I hadn't had Dad's journal."

Yep, that was pure Winchester cussedness right there. Dean had taken a child's memories and had found him. He was not about to stop in his mission. Either Bobby would kick the boy off his property with a butt full of buckshot, or he would do as Dean asked.

Well, he always did have a soft spot for John's boys. He glared at Dean. "Idjit. This ain't no college that you can apply to." Although apparently the kid had gotten into at least community college. John probably wouldn't have approved, but John had been an ass ninety-five percent of the time.

"Nope." The boy just leaned back in his chair and grinned. "There's no pretty co-eds."

Bobby picked up the heaviest book on the table and threw it at Dean. "Read that."

Dean caught the book –nothing wrong with the boy's reflexes- and opened it to the first page. He started reading.

Bobby had mixed feelings about this, but he knew that he couldn't chase Dean off. Maybe he missed being called Uncle Bobby. Maybe he missed little boys with big, worried eyes. And maybe he was just soft.

The boy read everything he was handed that day while Bobby fielded calls for his legitimate business and about six different hunters. He didn't see the point in drilling Dean on the physical aspects; it was obvious that John had taken care of that at the foundation and Dean would handle that on his own. Bobby was a book guy, so if Dean had come to him for help that was what Bobby would offer.

He hadn't considered that the matter of where Dean would be sleeping was even up for debate until the teenager was standing at his elbow, asking if he could bunk down on the couch for the night. "There's a room upstairs. It's probably dusty, but it should be fine for sleeping."

Dean shrugged. "Couch is fine. I drove straight here from Chicago this morning, though and I need a few hours of sleep."

"You want some food first?" It was probably close to dinner time now and Bobby could probably scrounge something edible to feed the kid.

"Food would be awesome," he said, audibly cracking his neck. "I didn't really stop for much more than gas and McDonald's on the way here. Too worried you'd picked up stakes or something before I got here."

"Not going anywhere," Bobby assured him. "It would be way too much trouble to reroute all of those phone lines."

"Yeah, what's up with those?" Dean was looking at the handsets with their masking tape labels with an expression of deep interest.

"I mostly work as a home base for other hunters these days, running interference between them and local authorities and such. Getting a little too slow for the job nowadays." That wasn't his only reason, of course, but it was the only one Dean was getting. "Why don't you tell me how Sam's doing these days while I see about pulling together something to eat?"

Dean grinned. "He's doing great. Top of his class every single time, and his soccer team made Regional championship this year."

Bobby took in the observation as he poked through the cabinet and freezer trying to find something he could feed a hungry teenage boy. "Spaghetti all right?"

"I'll make it," the boy volunteered immediately. "Think you could give me a few hunting pointers while I cook?"

"I could," Bobby said, looking Dean over, "but I'm more interested in hearing what you've been up to."

There was a shrug from broad shoulders. "Graduated from high school two days ago."

"That's good to know. You planning on college?" Bobby had avoided Vietnam by the skin of his teeth and gone to a trade school rather than anything a little more formal. Most of the time he didn't really mind, but every once in a while he regretted not having that chance.

"Probably," Dean said. "I scraped together a few scholarships that should help me get into a state school. I figure if I go for Criminal Justice I should be able to work in the occasional hunt. There's no way that won't be useful."

"You're planning on becoming a cop?" That was a bit of a surprise in some ways, but it fit with this new image of Dean that was starting to form. John would have pitched a fit, but Bobby trusted the kid to find a way to have the best of both worlds. And having him as a contact wherever he settled down couldn't hurt.

"Some kind of law enforcement, anyway. It makes Helen and Will happy and was pretty much the only normal career that wasn't going to bore me to tears."

"And it gives you access to the kind of databases you'll need as a hunter," Bobby pointed out.

Dean flashed him a smile as he turned from chopping onions and garlic on a wooden cutting board. "Like I said, it'll be useful. I figure once I'm in something a little more stable you and I can share information."

"Sounds like a good plan to me."

The spaghetti turned out to be amazing. Dean had surprised him when the boy had bypassed the jar of spaghetti sauce and went for the canned tomatoes instead, but the finished product was better than any meal he'd had in years. Even if he hadn't had any kind of fond memories of Dean as a kid, Bobby would have been willing to put up with him and all of his questions as long as the kid cooked at least once a day.

Dean talked about his family while they ate, telling Bobby not only about Sam, but his foster parents and their three children. Reading between the lines, Bobby was sure that the kid loved this second family just as much as his first. Probably in his mind there wasn't any real difference between the two. So he ate two plates of pasta with homemade meat sauce and three slices of grilled garlic bread and listened as Dean talked about how smart Sam was and how well he was doing with soccer, and about Kevin and baseball and Joan and her tae kwon do classes and Luke's science experiments. He volunteered to clean up afterwards, since Dean had done all of the cooking, and Dean headed for the couch, practically face-planting there and asleep before the dishes were done.

They fell into a comfortable rhythm soon enough, Dean beating him awake most mornings and making a pot of coffee that was almost too strong for even him. Bobby sorted out a stack of books that Dean was slowly working his way through, taking notes in a thick spiral-bound notebook. He was looking for a basic primer for hunting, background information on almost any creature that Bobby had ever heard of and some that he hadn't, along with protection symbols and wards and other things to keep people safe. It should have been years of work, but Dean had an uncanny ability to skim through a text and write down the pertinent information without getting lost in rabbit trails. The method wasn't perfect; he wouldn't always have the details he would need to identify something from what he'd written down, for one, and sometimes the behavior of these things could only be determined through trial and error. What he had would be enough to point him in the right direction, though, and he could always do more in-depth research later.

He left after three weeks, promising to call to catch up now that he had the number, and Bobby watched as the Impala turned out of the packed dirt that was his driveway with a lump in his throat that he would deny until the day he died. Then he went back inside to his empty house.

xxx

Jim hadn't thought of the Winchesters in a very long time. He'd heard from Bobby Singer when John had died, as well as confirmation that the boys were safe and well and had managed to find a good foster home. Over the years he'd prayed for them when they came to his mind, but that tapered off with time and the unspoken reassurance he'd felt when he'd prayed had eventually led to a lack of worry where Dean and Sam were concerned. Other, more immediate concerns came to the forefront of his mind and the memory of the Winchester boys faded into the background.

Despite this state of forgetfulness, he recognized the rumble of that particular car engine before he had a chance to see it. John's Impala pulled into the driveway while he was sitting at his desk near the front door and idled a moment before the engine cut off. The hinges on the door creaked open and then the heavy steel of the door slammed closed. Then footfalls approached the door, not as heavy as John's had been but substantial and real, and there was a firm, sure knock on the door.

Jim was already standing by the time the person knocked, his hand on the doorknob. He didn't bother to check to see who was waiting on his front porch; a demon would be caught in the devil's trap he'd painted on the underside of the floorboards and he could handle a normal person without any sort of worry. God would keep him safe.

The young man standing there was unfamiliar. There was a beat-up leather jacket on his shoulders despite the heat of the day and he was dressed in jeans, boots, and a plain t-shirt. There was a smile on his face and he kept his hands in plain sight. "Pastor Jim?"

He had been a hunter for most of his life, basically raised in the life by a mother who had been similarly been brought up as a hunter, and he'd learned to read people in both that life and in the ministry that he'd been called into when he was young. He knew how to put two and two together. "Dean Winchester," he sighed. Somehow it made perfect sense that the boy had managed to track him down after eight years. "It's good to see you." He rested one hand on the boy's shoulder and was surprised when Dean moved in for brief hug.

"Good to see you too," Dean said. There was a smile on his face as he looked around. Jim knew that this was one of the few places where Dean had stayed more than once.

"What brings you here?" Singer had tracked them to Maryland, which was obviously a little more than a spur of the moment journey away. This was something Dean had planned.

"I turned eighteen and graduated high school," Dean said, as if that explained everything. Jim waited. People didn't like silence and if you gave them enough of it they tended to fill it. "I decided to track down some people, find out what I could about how to keep my family safe. Just spent three weeks out in South Dakota with Bobby. He gave me pretty much all I need to get started, but I still wanted to check in and see you."

"Of course. How have things been for you? Bobby checked back when your father died and he said your foster family seemed like a good fit." Jim led the tall young man through the house into the kitchen, trying to shake the image of that little boy with the big eyes and a death grip on his brother. Obviously Dean was comfortable letting his brother go nowadays, since he was here in Minnesota without Sam. He poured a cup of coffee from the pot he'd left setting since that morning for himself and, after a nod, one for Dean. They sat down at the table and Dean started talking.

"They're not bad," Dean allowed, an edge of a proud smile on his face. "Sam loves it there, of course. Helen and Will let him play soccer and he's gone to the same school every single year, and Kevin's just a year older so they hang out a lot. They wanted to adopt the two of us a few years back."

"Why didn't they?"

The smile slid off of his face. "Helen could tell that it made me uncomfortable. I didn't want to lose my name, and I can't call them Mom and Dad no matter how much I try. It's different for Sammy, he doesn't really remember either one of them, but she didn't want to risk splitting us up."

"And everything is all right? Nothing . . .strange?" He didn't dare speak about John's half-formed theories and concerns. There had never been any solid evidence to support them, after all.

"I pretty much put down solid, permanent salt lines in the house the day I moved in, but I haven't seen anything around them. That doesn't mean that something won't come after them, though, and I wanted to know better ways to protect them than just salt lines."

He took another, longer look at Dean. "Oh Dean," he said. "You've still got the hunting bug, don't you?"

"I'm planning on hunting at some point, yeah. I'm going to college first, though, and then get on as law enforcement somewhere. How did you know?"

"I was raised in it, same as you," Jim said easily, as though that hadn't caused him unbelievable pain at several points in his life. He'd made his peace with it a long time ago, even though he didn't do much more than shelter and teach other hunters and their families nowadays. "I know what it looks like when someone can't let the idea go."

"People are getting hurt and I can stop it," Dean said, simply. "There's never going to be a time when I won't want to hunt in some way or another. Besides, the thing that killed my mom is still out there somewhere."

"You know this life eats away at you," Jim couldn't help but point out. "There aren't many old, happy hunters out there."

Dean set his jaw in an uncomfortably familiar way and despite how little he actually resembled John Winchester there was little doubt that he was currently looking at John's son. "If I wasn't going to hunt, I'd still be in law enforcement or the military. One way or another, this is what I am going to do."

Jim accepted his defeat graciously and changed the subject. It wasn't like any normal person could change a Winchester's mind anyway. The rest of the conversation was a little stilted, the almost-argument from earlier hanging over the two of them in a cloud. "You know you're always welcome here, Dean," Jim told him as the young man was getting up to leave. "You should probably stay the night, anyway."

"I need to get back," Dean explained. "I have a job waiting for me and a little sister that will be upset if I miss the fireworks."

"Keep in mind what I told you," the man cautioned as they stood on the porch. "Hunting's a hard life. One way or another, something might reach out for your family some day." Jim pictured the light in Dean's eyes slowly dying until Dean started to resemble John or Rufus Turner or any one of the hard-bitten, bitter hunters he'd met over the years. It wasn't an image he cared for in the least.

"And I'll protect them if that happens," Dean answered. He gave one last embrace, this one a little more awkward than the one they'd exchanged earlier, and walked to his car. The Impala's engine roared to life a moment or two later and Dean backed down the short asphalt driveway and pointed the car towards the east.

xxx

Sam knew he'd never be able to admit it to his brother without being relentlessly mocked, but he'd been worried. Whatever John Winchester had been involved with in life, it had gotten the man killed and if someone asked Sam there really wasn't a good reason to revisit any of that. Things were good now. He had a second older brother and two little siblings and a load of things that he probably wouldn't have been able to do before they came to the Girardis. He loved his current family and he loved his life and he didn't want anything to mess it up.

If Dean hadn't been able to hold onto a handful of family pictures, Sam wouldn't have known what John and Mary Winchester looked like. Whenever he tried to think of his father he came up with a mental picture of a tall, gruff man that smelled like smoke and whiskey, with the face from Dean's pictures pasted on top. He had been gone so much that Sam didn't really miss him, and he couldn't feel bad about that. Helen and Will were his mom and dad now, the only ones he really remembered. That was that, as far as Sam was concerned. The only concession he was willing to make was to keep his last name, more for Dean's sake than anything else.

He didn't want his brother to turn into John Winchester's shadow, gone more than he was around and not really present when he was physically there. Dean deserved to be happy, and to have an awesome life.

The worry was still there, even though Dean had pulled into the driveway a minute ago and was climbing out of the car. Sam remembered that big, black car. He'd spent a lot of time sleeping in that car when he was little, enough that the sound of the engine and the road under its tires was the only lullaby he could remember hearing.

Mom was out the door before Dean managed to get inside, wrapping him up in one of her hugs. Sam always thought she gave the best hugs, with Dean in second place and little Joan in third. His sister had been playing in the sprinkler in the backyard, decked out in her bright pink bathing suit, and Sam watched through the window as she ran up and gave Dean a soaking wet hug as well. He closed his book and headed downstairs to get in on the action.

Later, when the rest of the family was caught up in other tasks, Sam pulled his brother aside. Dean went easily, the smile he'd been wearing since he got back still in place. "Did you find out what you wanted to know?" Sam actually didn't know what Dean had been looking for, specifically, beyond finding Uncle Bobby and Pastor Jim. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

"Spent three weeks with Uncle Bobby," Dean answered. He looked a little calmer than before, more settled. "Tracked down Pastor Jim too. He'd like it if you could call him, I think. I'm not going to have time, between work and school in the fall, but we both know you'll be acing your classes without any trouble."

One of his worried dissolved at his brother's offhand mention of school. If Dean was planning on college, he probably wasn't getting ready to take off and live on the road like John Winchester. "I might be willing to do that," he said. He had some vague memories of Pastor Jim, probably more of that man then his biological father. He seemed to remember staying there for several long stretches just before he started kindergarten.

"Good," Dean said, giving Sam a pat on the back. "And Sam? Just because I'm talking to Uncle Bobby and Pastor Jim doesn't mean I'm going anywhere. There's no way you're getting rid of me anytime soon."

College was on the horizon for his brother. Dean was planning on commuting for now, forgoing the dorms to stay with the Girardi's for at least the first year, but he'd probably move out soon. Sam knew that after this year he'd never be as close to his brother as he was now. Somehow, though, his brother's offhand promise that he would be there was enough for him. Dean was not John Winchester. Sam was going to have him around for a very long time.


	3. Chapter 3

"So are you coming home with me for Christmas?" Jess settled against Sam on the couch, waiting until he put down his book before handing him a cup of coffee. "Don't leave me alone with my family after last year. They'll think they scared you off."

"They couldn't do that," Sam answered. "Actually, I was hoping you'd come home with me and visit my family this year." He slipped an arm around her waist. "You haven't had a chance to meet any of them."

The young woman thought about it for a moment. "I guess it's fair," she said slowly. "My mom won't like it, but she likes you so it should be all right." Jess sipped her own coffee and snuggled a little closer to him. "So what should I expect?"

"Chaos," Sam answered immediately. "Seven people who rarely agree about anything in one house for a week. Dean will have to work some of it. Kevin has a basketball game. Joan and Luke will pick on each other relentlessly. Mom will spend a chunk of the time out in the garage working on some of her paintings and Dad will make lasagna." He smiled, his eyes unfocused like he was remembering something. "We'll put up the tree, make cookies, and Mom will try to drag us all to Mass."

"Sounds like fun," said Jessica. The picture Sam was painting had her suddenly looking forward to it. Her family Christmases had always been busy, but she was an only child and the idea of multiple siblings was oddly exciting. Besides, she'd never spent Christmas on the East Coast before, and the idea of snow for Christmas thrilled the child inside her.

It wasn't quite as thrilling three weeks later, when they trudged out of the airport and into a snowstorm. An old black monster of a car pulled up to the curb and Sam headed for it without hesitation, lugging their suitcases while Jess trailed behind with the carry-ons. Sam gestured her into the backseat while he tossed the luggage into the trunk, and she gratefully climbed into the heated interior. The driver turned around to look at her, eyebrows raised in a manner she recognized from Sam's family pictures, and she smiled awkwardly. "I'm Jess."

"Dean," the man said. "Nice to finally meet you. I was beginning to think that my brother had made you up." Sam slid in beside her, and Dean looked at him with a smirk on his face. "Way out of your league, little brother."

Sam huffed but didn't reply to that particular barb. "Nice to see you too, Dean."

"Of course it is," Dean said smugly. "And because I'm such an awesome big brother, I drove my baby all the way to the airport in a snowstorm so you wouldn't have to listen to Helen probe about how you close you two really are. You can thank me anytime."

Sam chuckled. "Thanks, Dean. Any chance we can stop and get some coffee?"

Dean grumbled but pulled off the first exit on the interstate and got into a drive-thru line. Jess watched as the brothers bickered, Dean ribbing her boyfriend for his cream and sugar preferences, and tried to remember everything she could about Sam's family.

Dean, she knew, was Sam's biological brother and the only blood family he had. Will and Helen Girardi had taken in both boys when they were both young, and Sam had acquired three more siblings. She ticked them off in her head as Dean shared the family updates: Kevin was back with his old girlfriend, Joan was having a hard time dealing with her friend's recent death, and Luke was still dating Grace.

Sam never talked about his birth parents. He called the Girardis 'Mom' and 'Dad' when he talked about them, though Dean didn't do the same. Jess wondered what that meant at family events like this.

The psych major in her couldn't keep from analyzing the people close to her from time to time, but she always put a ruthless stop to it when she realized she was doing it. She did that now, forcing herself to sip her drive-thru coffee and simply enjoy the banter between Sam and his brother.

The drive to the Girardi house from the airport only took about half an hour, and the two men kept her so entertained that the trip felt even shorter. Dean pulled up in front of a nicely-kept house with a wheelchair ramp that ran alongside the porch stairs and he and Sam carried the suitcases in. Jess followed close behind with her backpack and Sam's duffle, surreptitiously glancing around as she stepped into the house.

Sam set the suitcases down and led her into a big open kitchen painted bright blue and yellow. "Made it," he announced, and suddenly there was a crowd around them both. The next few minutes were chaotic, and she received embraces and handshakes and a blur of introductions.

A high-pitched shriek grabbed everyone's attention for a moment before Sam's younger brother (Luke, she reminded herself) rolled his eyes and went back to the business of grating parmesan cheese. Dean came down the back stairs with a squirming body thrown over his shoulder. "One little sister, delivered right to your feet," he said, grinning and setting her down.

The teenager turned and slugged Dean in the arm. "You are so dead," she threatened, narrowing her eyes and glaring at him before turning back to Sam and tackling him with a fierce hug, nearly knocking him over. "I missed you, you giant geek."

Sam grunted quietly with the force and braced himself against the island. "Missed you, too. Joan, this is my girlfriend Jess. Jess, my little sister Joan."

"Hi," the girl said, brushing long brown hair back from her face. "It's nice to finally meet you; Sam talks about you every time he calls home."

"It's nice to meet you too. You're going to have to give me all the dirt on your brother here."

Joan shrugged. "There's not that much. Sam's the normal one. Never gets in trouble."

"I wouldn't say never," Dean said, his voice sing-song. Jess looked over to see he was grinning with a particularly mischievous glint in his eye. "I might have some dirt, if you're willing to share some of yours."

"You do and you'll regret it," Sam warned. "No matter what you've got on me, I guarantee I've got worse."

"The difference is that I don't care who knows about it," Dean smirked. "I'm pretty sure you don't want Jess knowing about-"

"Dean!"

The man chuckled and moved away, reaching over his sister's head for the plates in the cupboard. "Come on, brat, let's set the table."

xxx

They ended up piled on the comfortable couches in the family room after dinner, arguing about which movies to watch. Jessica had the feeling that it was a familiar, comfortable argument, given the way Will Girardi sighed as he put away 'The Godfather.'

Jess had seen 'Big Fish' enough times that she didn't really need to pay much attention to the plot and instead spent the time doing a little covert observation of Sam's family. Dean dropped down to the floor with careless grace and Joan ended up next to him, her back pressed against her mother's legs. It was odd, somehow, to see how close the two were considering the differences in ages. They were all pretty close, but Dean seemed to be closer to Joan than the rest of his foster siblings.

Sam and Kevin seemed to get along fairly well, probably due to similarities in personality as well as being nearly the same age, and all of the older kids seemed to alternate between being overprotective of Luke and ganging up to tease him. Jess didn't know the fine details of how Sam and his brother had ended up with the Girardi's, and she wasn't sure if even Sam was aware of what had happened given how young he'd been. It might be nice to talk to Dean about it sometime, just to get an idea. She wanted to know everything about Sam.

When the movie ended the clan broke up and headed off in their individual directions. Jess ended up bunking down with Joan, because there was no way she was sleeping with her boyfriend under his parents' roof. She was trying to make a good impression on them, after all, and unless both Helen and Will gave her express permission she wasn't stepping on that landmine.

Joan was quiet as they changed into pajamas and turned out the light, which would have been great if she simply wanted to sleep, but Jess wanted to talk. Sam's little sister would be an invaluable resource in learning about her boyfriend. "You asleep?"

There was a pause. "I'm completely asleep," the girl replied. "So are you. You're just dreaming this conversation."

Jess ignored the subtle plea to be left alone and dove right in. "When did Sam and Dean come to live with your family?"

Joan thought about it for long enough that Jess worried she'd gone to sleep. "I think I was three, so 1989? Dean was ten and Sam was six. Why do you want to know?"

"I'm just curious. Sam doesn't talk about it much."

Joan turned over and looked at Jess in the dim light from the outside streetlamp. "I don't really remember what it was like to not have four brothers. Sam might not really remember much either. Six is pretty little."

She took a moment to absorb that. "Dean knows, though."

"Dean remembers a lot," Joan agreed. "Sam doesn't want to know some of it, though. They had it rough with their dad."

"So you know something about it?"

Joan sighed. "Jessica, I like you. The way Sam talks about you, I'm pretty sure you're going to be my sister-in-law some day. But that isn't my business to tell you, and I'm not sharing it. If you want embarrassing stories about Sam when he was going through puberty, I'm more than willing to fill you in, but that's not mine to tell. Go to sleep." The girl turned over with a sigh, the conversation clearly over, and left Jessica to think about what the girl both had said and hadn't said.

It took a while to get to sleep, despite jet lag and the mental exhaustion that had accompanied finishing up with finals and the very long day she'd already had. Her brain wouldn't switch off as she laid there beside Sam's little sister, listening as the girl's soft breathing evened out almost instantly. She either was incredibly good at faking sleep, or Joan was one of those terrible people who could drop off to sleep without any real effort. Jess had never been that lucky.

She was still awake, though she was finally starting to drift off, when Joan jerked up from sleep. That was enough to startle her into awareness again and she watched as the younger girl's eyes darted to every corner of the room before relaxing slightly.

"Nightmare?" Jess asked.

Joan nodded, taking deep, shaky breaths before lying back down. She was shaking badly enough that Jess could feel the tremors through the bed. "Sorry for waking you up," she said.

"I wasn't asleep yet," Jess told her. "Want to talk about it?"

"No," Joan said, her voice stronger. "Talking won't help. I just want to go back to sleep."

"You get nightmares a lot?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it," Joan said, probably trying for angry but not quite reaching it. "Go to sleep, Jessica."

Jess did as she was told. She didn't know Sam's sister well enough to push and it wasn't like she was the girl's therapist. Still, she lay there for almost an hour before she managed to fall asleep.

The next morning Jessica was the last person up and moving. The smell of coffee and pancakes lured her down the stairs and she took a seat next to Sam at the slightly crowded kitchen table, yawning and snuggling into him without a hint of embarrassment. The conversation didn't flag or falter, the other members of the family talking over each other, and Jess let the noise wash over her. It was surprisingly comforting.

There was a mug of something warm pressed into her hands and Jess looked down to see hot chocolate waiting for her. Joan was walking away when she looked up, and as best as she could tell the hot chocolate was an apology for the night before. She sipped at the mug and accepted the pancakes when they were handed to her, reaching for butter and syrup and slathering them in both. She didn't get pancakes very often, so this would be a nice treat.

After breakfast she got in line for the shower. Apparently Dean had gone back to his place to shower and change but there were still seven people competing for two bathrooms and only two of them had managed to shower before breakfast. Joan was awkward with her while they waited, keeping the conversation centered on movies and books and her snippy boss at the bookstore. "I'm working this afternoon, for the so-called Christmas rush, so I'll miss dinner," the girl confided.

"I've still got a few presents to buy," Jess said. This was completely untrue. She'd finished her Christmas shopping over Thanksgiving break, delivered her family's presents at the same time so she wouldn't have to cart them back and forth, and only had to wrap the things she'd brought for Sam and his family. "Mind if I head over there with you? Sam can pick me up when I'm done."

Joan shrugged like it was unimportant, as if she hadn't spent most of the morning keeping Jessica at arm's length. Jess intended to change that by the time she left the bookstore.

They headed out an hour later, Jess leaving her long, curly hair wet rather than fussing with various types of product. She could always fix it later, but she didn't want to miss her window of opportunity with Sam's sister. It turned out that Joan usually walked to the bookstore, which helped. Jess would walk back when she was done instead of calling Sam. That would give her time to process whatever happened with his sister, and something would most definitely be happening. Joan was clearly having nightmares on a fairly regular basis and that couldn't be good for the younger girl.

She was expecting that she would need to drag the truth out of Joan, possibly with pliers, so Jessica was a bit surprised when they were a block away from the house and Joan said, abruptly, "They aren't a big deal."

It took a second to pull her focus away from the cold and figuring out how she was going to broach the subject of Joan's nightmares. "Really?"

There was a touch of pink on the girl's cheeks, but Jess couldn't tell if it was embarrassment or the brisk wind they were walking into. "The dreams are about Judith, mostly. Sometimes they're nightmares and sometimes they're not really bad at all. Mom would freak out if she knew I was having them, though, so don't tell her."

"Judith was your friend?" Jess asked.

"She was my best friend," Joan said. "She was so awesome, just funny and really alive, you know? It's nice, getting to see her in my dreams."

"She's the one who died?" Everything made a bit more sense when Joan nodded, obviously close to tears. "And you miss her."

"I miss her a lot. She just died a few weeks ago, you know. I don't think Sam ever even got a chance to meet her." There were tears rolling down Joan's face now and the girl didn't try to wipe them away. "So, you know, don't worry about the dreams. If you want I'll take the couch downstairs or go over to Dean's or something so that you can get some sleep."

"I don't mind." Jess felt a smile creep up over the edges of her face. "It's not really any worse than sleeping with your brother."

"Oh, ew." Joan raised up her arms in protest and hurried a few steps ahead, turning around and walking backward so she could still address Jessica. "We're not talking about that ever, thank you very much. The absolute last thing I want to think about is my brother having sex."

Jess hurried after her, really smiling now. "He's a great kisser," she teased, and Joan clapped her hands over her ears.

"La la, can't hear you," she said. "Oh look, we're here. I'm going to go clock in now."

She made a few purchases to keep her cover even though it was obvious that Joan had seen through it, lingered just long enough for Joan to smile and roll her eyes, all gloom dismissed for the time being, and then started her walk home. She passed an older lady on the sidewalk, bundled up in a heavy wool coat and her glasses on one of those chains that librarians use for their reading glasses, and smiled back when the woman nodded at her.

xxx

Sam wasn't all that surprised when Grace Polk and Adam Rove showed up the day after Christmas, filling the already crowded house to the brim. He liked the two of them well enough, though he wasn't sure if Adam was good enough for his baby sister and Grace never quite knew what to do with him. Sam had the feeling that she was a little bit disturbed by the fact that he was studying to be a lawyer at an Ivy League school and that his brother and father were both cops. It was a little much for a supposed anarchist to handle. To be honest, sometimes he wasn't sure how the girl handled Joan and Luke. Those two were pretty high-strung, Luke especially.

Jess was understandably fascinated with his family and their friends, but Sam needed a little time away from them and he had a project he needed to handle anyway so he shanghaied Dean and escaped within a half hour.

Once he realized their destination, Dean complained bitterly about going to the mall on his day off when he'd just pulled a long shift on Christmas day. Sam ignored him, as usual. His sister might have actually been a better choice, but she seemed happy with Grace and Adam there and it was so good to see her happy that he didn't have the heart to pull her away. Maybe if this trip turned out to be fruitless he'd cave and ask Joan for advice on picking out engagement rings, but he was confident that they could handle this. He'd snatched the ring Jess wore to use for size and he knew her tastes. It should be a piece a cake.

It was fairly easy by the end, but only because Sam gave into Dean's urging and called his sister into the fray. He had intended to get a classy diamond solitaire, hopefully within his price range, but apparently even those had so many varieties and options that they all started to meld together in his mind. Joan showed up demanding a latte for her troubles and Dean gratefully disappeared. Sam had a feeling that he wouldn't be seeing his brother until they got to the parking lot.

"You know, this isn't really all that hard," Joan said, her voice impatient. He'd pulled her away from her boyfriend, after all, and that was a big deal when you were a teenager. "Jessica just wants something simple." Her dark eyes roamed over the case for a minute or so before pointing. "Second row from the bottom, four over. Can we see that one, please?"

The salesperson obliged, still trying for the commission even though Sam was being incredibly difficult. If Sam could have spared a thought for the guy he would have probably apologized, but right now every single aspect of him was focused on figuring this out.

The ring that Joan had picked didn't really look any different than several others. If anything, it was smaller, the diamond set in a little more closely to the band than most of them. There was some engraving in the band that looked a little like a trailing vine and it was white gold rather than yellow. "Really?"

"It's special without being bling, and Jessica wears silver or white gold instead of yellow in all of her jewelry," Joan said, her tone matter-of-fact. "Trust me, dork, this is the ring you want. Now can I please have my coffee?"

It wasn't quite that simple; it took Sam an hour to get everything squared away. Dean had eventually showed up with Joan's coffee while Sam was signing his life savings away and the two of them wandered into the bookstore next door. He went after them once he had the ring box securely tucked away into his inside jacket pocket. Joan never bought anything in one of these chains and probably wouldn't let any of them do much more than buy a beverage while they were inside. His sister was pretty loyal to the little shop where she worked. They were hanging out by the CD's, trash-talking each other's tastes in music, and she made him buy another latte on the way out as payment for this little excursion.

Once they got back to the house Sam tucked the ring into his carry-on and tried not to think about it. He wasn't about to propose in front of his whole family and there was no way he'd get enough time away from them while he was here. It would have to wait.

xxx

Joan had only a few hazy impressions of what life had been like before she'd had four brothers, before Dean and Sam had joined their family. They were more what she thought it had been like, rather than any concrete memory. She did remember the night her father had brought them home, the memory of it bright against the background of her childhood.

She was coloring at the kitchen table when she heard the door open and her father call out for her mother. The little girl dropped her crayons and slid out of her chair, running for the door with an excited cry. Her daddy swept her up when she reached him and kissed her on the cheek before kneeling down with her still in his arms. It wasn't until then that Joan noticed the two boys. "Are you here to play with me?"

Daddy smiled and set her down. "This is Dean and Sam. They're going to be staying with us for a while. Boys, this is my daughter Joan."

Joan grabbed a hand for each boy, already bored with introductions. "Come play with me," she insisted, pulling them into the family room, the corner of it crowded with toys. There was some resistance, and Dean was really quiet, but eventually they joined in her game.

Years later, Joan tried to hold onto that happy memory as she stared at her oldest brother. "You did what?"

Dean didn't pause as he constructed his sandwich. "I had a talk with your ex-boyfriend. You want one of these?"

"No. What did you say to Adam?"

"I told him that if he ever hurt my sister again, no one would ever find his body." The man leaned against the counter and took a bite out of his sandwich. "It's my right as a big brother."

Joan sighed and dropped her head onto her folded arms. "How did you even find out?"

"Luke told me," he said shrugging.

Of course, the world's biggest blabbermouth had spread the news. She should probably count herself lucky that her mom hadn't dragged her in for a talk yet. "I'm gonna kill him."

Dean looked up from his food. "No, don't do that, kiddo. I need my narc from the high school. Otherwise I won't know who I need to beat up for messing with my little sister."

"I had it under control!"

"Sorry, kiddo. It's my right and privilege to beat up any boys that do anything to you. Take it up with the board if you've got a problem with it."

"If I'd known it was going to be this much trouble, I wouldn't have gotten so excited about the idea of having more brothers."

Dean shrugged. "No exchanges or refunds, kiddo. You're stuck with me now."

And deep down, Joan knew she wouldn't have it any other way. "You going to give the same speech to Grace Polk? You know she and Luke are totally macking on each other."

"It would be a little too weird to give the speech to a girl. Luke will just have to look out for himself." Dean cut his sandwich in half and slid one part of it over onto a plate. He handed it over to Joan and the girl sighed as she took it from him.

"You might be giving Luke a little too much credit. Maybe I should give Grace the talk."

"Let's give Grace the chance to screw up first. We both know Luke's more likely to do something first, anyway. How are you holding up in physics?"

"Hanging on by my fingernails, but I think I'm going to pass. I'll have to study my butt off for the final, though."

"Get any replies from schools?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. Hopefully I'll get something soon." A bright smile spread across her face. "I think I've picked out a major, though. How would you like to be the big brother to not one but two lawyers? Depending on me getting into anything but a trade school."

"You'll get into a decent college, brat. Stop worrying about that and start trying to figure out how you're going to help Helen and Will pay for it." He considered her for a long moment. "What kind of law are you thinking?"

"I want to end up in criminal prosecution." Her eyes lit up at the prospect. "We had a mock trial at school and I was really, really good at it."

"Sounds good," he said, biting into his sandwich. "Will and I can catch the dirtbags, you make sure they get where they're supposed to be."

xxx

Sam hated the airport and flying, but he didn't have many other options open to him. His finals ended earlier that morning and Joan and Luke were graduating from high school on the other side of the country tomorrow at noon. There was no other way to attend both events, so he sucked it up and booked the flight at Christmas time when that fact became apparent. Jessica was traveling with him, so at least it wouldn't get too boring. He could spend the time on the plane catching up on his sleep and trying to figure out when he was going to show Jess the ring in his carry-on. He'd been carrying it around since just after Christmas but hadn't worked up the nerve to ask her to marry him yet. With the way things were going, he might not manage it until next Christmas.

He ended up spending most of his time reading over Jess' shoulder, too jittery with caffeine and nerves to sleep and too tired to truly plan anything. Jess put up with it with a smile and even let him stretch a little into her space despite the fact that she was just as cramped in coach as he was. People over five feet nine inches really shouldn't ride in anything but first class.

Between the connection in Houston and the time difference, they didn't arrive in Maryland until almost two in the morning. Dean picked them up just like he had last time, although he was almost manic from the effort of staying awake. They crashed at Dean's apartment this time rather than going to the Girardi house and his brother dropped down onto the couch and waved them into the bedroom without further words. Sam couldn't help but wonder how long Dean had been awake. He kept strange hours as it was.

They squeezed in about six hours of sleep before Helen started calling, her attempts to get them all over for brunch before the graduation ceremony were not something that any of them could ignore. Jess got the shower, by virtue of her gender and with the practiced application of puppy-eyes, and Sam and Dean crowded around the kitchen sink for a quick birdbath while the coffee pot gurgled in the corner. None of them really felt like braving the insanity waiting for them without caffeine.

Dean's apartment was within walking distance, but Dean was planning on driving to graduation so they took the Impala instead. Joan was flitting back and forth, running up the stairs to get ready only to run back down and take care of some small detail that she had apparently forgotten earlier. Sam managed to get a hug from his sister before she disappeared again. Jess and Dean settled in the kitchen while he went in search of Luke.

His brother was as high-strung as Joan sometimes, but today he was a calm counterpoint to his sister's whirlwind. The dress shirt, tie, and khakis that Luke would be wearing under his cap and gown were all neatly laid out on the bed and Luke was chatting with someone via instant message. "Needed a little peace and quiet?" he asked, glancing up from his computer.

"Yeah," Sam said, sitting down on the bed. He had to wonder if this was one of those obscure girl things, Joan being all flustered about graduation. Luke was valedictorian, for crying out loud, and he wasn't as nervous as Joan. He had to give a speech and everything.

"Joan's worried about my speech," Luke said, his mouth quirking up in a smile. "I'm the one giving the stupid thing and she just keeps flipping out about me speaking in public."

"You worried?"

"No." The teenager stood and stretched. He looked like he might be taller than he had been at Christmas, but Sam still had several inches on him.

"All right," Sam said. "Food'll be ready in ten. I'm going to talk to Kevin."

It was a little strange, sometimes. Excluding Dean, Sam used to be closest to Kevin, mostly because of proximity. Then Dean had moved out and Sam started sharing a room with Luke instead of Kevin so that Joan could have her own room. Kevin started hanging out with his friends more, getting neck deep into sports. After the accident and the move Kevin pushed them all away for a while, and just when he started making some inroads Sam went away to Stanford.

Kevin, for all that he was the popular, 'normal' one of the family, was probably the most difficult to get to know, even within the family, and it had gotten much worse after he was paralyzed. Sam hovered outside his door for a moment before he knocked once and stepped inside. The knock was mostly for a heads-up and he didn't wait for a response.

The room was a little more disorganized than Sam would have thought, and there were a couple of packing boxes on the floor next to the shelves, shoved against the wall so they wouldn't interfere with the wheelchair path. "You moving out?"

"Trying to," Kevin said. He had his laptop up and running on the desk and was typing faster than Sam had ever seen him type. "Mom's not exactly liking the idea, but if I ever want a shot at Lily I'm going to need my own place."

"So you are dating the former nun, then," Sam teased. He'd heard about it from Dean, who'd picked it up from Joan. The family had a pretty good gossip system set up.

Kevin smiled. "I am dating the former nun. And she's pretty awesome. Likes to talk, though."

"You've always liked your girlfriends chatty," Sam pointed out. "Can Jess and I ride with you to graduation? I think Dean's heading over early."

"Shouldn't be a problem." There were a few more clicks before Kevin closed up the laptop and backed the wheelchair out of the desk space. "Is there food?"

"Unless you somehow slipped into an alternate reality," Sam replied. "There's always food."

"Awesome. Meet you downstairs."

"If you can avoid Hurricane Joan."

"It's easy when you're not out of practice."


	4. Chapter 4

Dean's car was packed for a four-day break and he had a file folder of research for a hunt in New York, and he was really looking forward to maybe using a flare gun or a shotgun and getting away from the station for a few days. Sometimes he thought life as a hunter would be so simple compared to the politics of the sheriff's department in Arcadia. Dean had specifically joined the sheriff's department so Will wouldn't be accused of nepotism and because he had a feeling he would like his foster father a lot better if he didn't work for him, and that had been shot to hell when Will blew the whistle on the City Council.

Because he had plans for the days off, it made perfect sense for his cell to ring just as he was making sure everything was turned off in the apartment. He barely had a chance to grunt out a greeting before Will started talking. "Can you get to Joan's school?"

"What happened?" And just like that, he was down the stairs and starting the car for the hour-long drive to University of Maryland, the hunt forgotten.

"I have no idea," Will said, and Dean could hear the frustration burning behind the words. "All they can tell me is that there's been an incident and they need someone to come to her dorm room. Helen and I are ten hours out."

"Call and tell 'em I'm on my way," Dean ordered and hung up. This was exactly why he wasn't a full-time Hunter like his dad had been. His family needed him.

When Dean was very young, the specter of CPS had hung over his head whenever his father had gone away on a hunt. It was ironic that he'd found his way to law enforcement, considering the bone-deep fear he'd held onto for years about being taken away by a social worker and separated from Sammy. And then his father had died on the hunt, and a cop had taken him and his brother home with him.

He hadn't expected the Girardis, and he definitely hadn't planned on the baby sister he'd picked up the night Will had found them in the motel room, but there was no way he'd let anyone or anything hurt any of them.

He managed to shave almost fifteen minutes from his drive, pulling up in front of the ugly brick dormitory and parking in a mostly legal spot on the street. Someone was waiting to let him in, which sent another stab of worry through Dean, and they hurried him down the halls and up two flights of stairs into a hallway crowded with coeds. Dean pushed past the college girls without a second glance and stopped in front of Joan's room.

"You're Joan's brother?" someone, probably the RA, asked, her expression oddly suspicious.

He nodded. "Dean. What happened?"

"We don't know," the girl said, her manner a little helpless. "She won't come out and she won't let anyone in and she isn't answering the phone in her room."

Well, they'd see about that. Joan sucked at telling him no, always had, and Dean had a feeling he'd be able to talk his way into her room. He knocked on the door. "Hey, kiddo, it's Dean. Let me in."

There was silence on both sides of the door, and Dean turned to glare at the gathered onlookers. This served to disperse all but the most determined, and even those stepped back a little. He was getting ready to knock again when he heard a very small voice (and it was very wrong to hear his opinionated little sister being so quiet) say his name. "Dean?"

"Yeah Joan, it's me. Gonna let your big brother in?"

There was another long wait, during which Dean took the opportunity to use his police badge to scare off everyone but the RA. "Prove that it's you."

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "Seriously, kiddo?"

"Just do it."

"When you were five you had an imaginary friend named Yaya and you drove us all crazy insisting that Yaya had a place to sit and a place at the table." He grinned a little. "And when you were eight . . ."

The door cracked open. Dean took that as an invitation and slid inside, closing the door behind him. The room was dim, the fading daylight the only illumination available, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. What he saw notched his unease up to straight-up worry.

Joan looked thin, and it wasn't the 'hey I took up running' type of skinny. This was more 'I haven't eaten properly in a few weeks.' There were dark circles under her eyes and her dark hair was greasy and limp around her face. He wondered how long she had barricaded herself in her dorm room before someone noticed.

"What's wrong, kiddo?" The man stepped closer and then stopped when she jerked backwards. Dean realized that she wasn't looking straight at him but focusing to his left, and he glanced in that direction but didn't see anything.

"They keep coming. I can't make them go away and leave me alone," she said, her voice hushed. "Nothing I do keeps them out."

The lever went up from worried to slightly freaked-out. "You have to tell me what's wrong, Joan. I can't help if you don't tell me." He moved toward her again, this time a little more slowly, and while she flinched she let him approach. Dean never thought he'd be using the negotiation tactics from the academy on his little sister. "Who's bothering you?"

"The ghosts," Joan whispered. "Judith. Rocky. Some lady named Catherine that I didn't know. An old guy named Chris. A girl my age named Susan." She focused on his left again. "Her name is Mary."

Ghosts. OK, he could fix that. "Any flickering lights or cold spots?"

She shook her head. "Just the one time. Sometimes it's hard to tell what they are. They . . .they just look like people." There was a pause while Joan looked off to his left again. "No, I'm not telling him that."

Crap. Dean didn't have a good feeling about this. "Joan, are they hurting you?"

She tore her gaze from the empty space beside him. "Don't be a moron. They're Ighosts,/I they can't actually touch me."

Two years ago, Dean had sat and watched as his sister lay in a hospital bed and argued with people who weren't really there. He'd scanned the room with EMF and even laid a salt circle around her bed just to be sure, but there weren't any spirits in the room then.

Just like there weren't any now.

"All right, kiddo. How do you feel?"

"Tired," she said, her voice taking on a bit of a whine. "They won't let me sleep."

"Why don't we go and get you checked out, just in case?"

"I'm not sick, and I'm not crazy!" Joan was very close to both tears and shouting, which often came in tandem with his sister. "And the one you brought wants you to stop being a stubborn Winchester mule and pay attention."

"The one I brought?" The idea that a spirit had followed him to his sister would have been worrying if he didn't know for a fact that the EMF in his pocket was completely and utterly silent.

"Mary," she said. "She walked into the room right behind you. And she says you're being just like your father and John Winchester was a stubborn b-bastard." Joan stumbled over the swear word a little, but she had a smirk on her face. "Pay attention, Dean. You know better than this." That last seemed more like a direct quote than something Joan would say.

This was starting to get a little unsettling. He'd been told on more than one occasion since he reunited with Bobby Singer that his father had been, in fact, a stubborn bastard, usually followed by a string of colorful language befitting a USMC Vietnam vet. But Dean was pretty sure he'd never told Joan this piece of information. He'd never shared more than the most bare of details with any of the Girardi family. "What does Mary look like?"

Joan shrugged. "Blond. Pretty. A few inches taller than me." That look to the left happened again. "She says to tell you that angels are watching over you."

Dean went cold. No one alive knew about those words, the last ones his mother had ever said to him. They were something he kept to himself, something special between him and his mom. "Mom?"

Now Joan looked a little shaken. "She says yeah. How long have you been following him around? 'Cause that's a little creepy." She waited, obviously listening to the response, and seemed a little more relaxed after that. "Okay, that makes sense. So you watch over both of them, then?"

"Dude, can you not have a conversation with my dead mother right now?" Dean sat down on the bottom bunk, wondering for a split second where Joan's roommate was before abandoning that train of thought as irrelevant. Joan sat down next to him, leaning against him a little, her skittishness gone. He put his arm around his sister, 'cause that's how he knew how to care for her. The bones of her shoulders poked at his arm.

Food would be the next thing on the list, once she relaxed enough for him to let go. He eyed her mini-fridge and hoped that she had something good in there. Given the state of his sister, he doubted it.

Meanwhile, Dean was trying to work through Joan's problem. How long had this been happening? He remembered how he had gained entrance and wondered if Yaya had been a ghost and not an imaginary friend. And that scene at Joan's hospital bedside just got re-evaluated. Obviously, Joan could see ghosts that didn't register on his EMF meter. He was so going to have to recalibrate it. If these were the same kind of ghosts as before how was he going to chase them away if salt didn't work?

She needed an expert, and Dean hated to admit it but he wasn't. Oh, he knew way more than most people about this kind of thing, but he was far from knowing everything. He needed help. He needed Bobby.

I_Joan_/I needed Bobby. But Dean had no idea how he was going to get his stubborn-as-hell sister out to South Dakota in the middle of the semester.

He was still trying to formulate a plan when Joan spoke up. "I can't stay here," she said, her voice regretful. "It's too much. He said I'd have to make a hard decision soon."

"Who said?"

Joan smiled for the first time since he'd walked into the room, her eyes closed as she rested against his shoulder. "Yaya."

It didn't take much time to get her things packed up and loaded into the car. Joan wasn't much help, still a little too wrung out to be of much use when it came to packing boxes and too shaky to really carry anything out to the car, so Dean just threw all of her clothes into a laundry bag, dumped the contents of her desk into her backpack, and piled the rest of it haphazardly in the backseat. The Impala was built to handle this kind of thing. He remembered his dad moving them more than once like this when he was a kid. They were on the road within an hour and something in Joan seemed to relax once they were in motion.

Dean should have spent the drive trying to come up with a cover story to sell to Helen and Will, since the truth would have them sending Joan back that camp and he couldn't protect her there. Instead he focused on cheering her up and making sure she ate something. She'd turned greenish-white at the suggestion of a cheeseburger, but seemed to handle a Wendy's baked potato well. He still wasn't sure when her last real meal had been, but he was sure that it had been a while.

He had coaxed her into bed when they got to the Girardi house, feeling a little silly as he asked the probable spirit of Mary Winchester to make sure his sister got some rest. The feeling of potential embarrassment was definitely worth it when his sister relaxed into sleep almost immediately. He whispered a thank you to the room in general and headed down to wait for Joan's parents.

Helen and Will came rushing into the house while he was on the phone arranging for leave. He hung up immediately; he was probably going to quit the job anyway since they weren't going to give him the kind of leave he really needed. "She's upstairs sleeping," he told them. "Looks like she hasn't really had anything like that in a few days, so you should probably leave her alone for now. I'll tell you what I know."

They sat down on the couch in something close to unison, holding each other close. "What happened?"

"She hasn't told me the details," Dean stalled a little. "I just know that whatever happened, it scared her so bad that she locked herself into her dorm room for at least a week before anyone noticed. She's still really freaked out about it and it might be a while before she calms down."

Helen frowned at him and went to stand up, but Dean shook his head. "She also didn't sleep for most of that week, I think, or eat or shower or anything. I was an inch away from taking her to the hospital, but we all know how much she hates the hospital."

"Did anyone at the school know anything?" Will asked.

"No one in that dorm could tell me anything. She'd barricaded the door and wasn't talking to anyone before I showed up." He blew out a breath, frustrated with those people in general. "One of us should probably head upstairs and keep watch in case she wakes up. Other than that, I've got no idea what's going on." It was as honest as he could be, under the circumstances. Helen went into defensive mode when something happened to any of them and she wouldn't handle the truth well, to say nothing of Will.

It took most of a week to convince Helen that a change in scenery would be good for Joan. He couldn't exactly tell her he was taking his little sister to see a psychic that one of his dad's friends had recommended, so he had settled for calling it a road trip. They all knew that Joan wouldn't see a therapist after her experience a few years ago, and in lieu of anything else to help her Helen reluctantly agreed, with the caveat that they would call in every night and that if she called one of them would always answer.

So Dean and Joan packed up a few things and drove halfway across the country to an address Bobby had given him. The house didn't make much sense to him. In his admittedly limited experience with this side of the supernatural world, the psychics who didn't hang out a shingle shied away from the normal folks altogether. This leafy residential street and nicely kept home didn't fit that pattern, and when things broke pattern it tended to worry him, especially since this woman was supposed to help his sister.

Dean glanced out of the corner of his eye as Joan fidgeted a little. She looked a little better than she had a week ago, but that wasn't saying much. He was unbelievably surprised that Will and Helen had let her leave with him instead of checking her into some sort of hospital. She was still painfully thin, skittish around anyone but Dean, and he knew that Helen suspected all sorts of things could have happened to her daughter to make bossy, opinionated Joan so quiet.

Joan twitched once more, glancing off to her right and pulling her jacket closer around her body, and then the door opened and Dean was looking at a seriously hot chick. He took a moment to give her a once-over, because I seriously/I, Bobby could have warned him. "Pamela Barnes?"

She laughed. "Dean Winchester, I presume? Bobby called and warned me." The smile on her face was oddly gentle as she turned to the girl beside him. "And you must be Joan."

His sister nodded and gave a weak smile, though her eyes kept glancing past both of them. Dean felt the knot in his chest tighten a little. God, he hoped he was doing the right thing.

"Come on in," Pamela said, pushing open the door and beckoning them inside. Dean followed close behind Joan, looking around the cluttered room carefully. Bobby had vouched for this one, called her the best psychic in the state of Illinois and the closest help available, but no one had ever been hurt by being cautious. She settled Joan down at a table and headed into the tiny kitchen, the rattling, clinking sound of dishes filling the silence as Dean settled down next to her.

The psychic came back into the room with some weird, arty mug in her hands. "Here you go, sweetie. This should help." She slid into the chair on the other side of Joan, sitting next to his sister and across from Dean. "The house isn't shielded completely. Given what I do that would be pointless, but the wards should take the edge off a little."

Joan nodded and managed a small smile. "It's a little better." She sipped from her mug, making a face at the taste.

Pamela laughed at the expression. "I know. Tastes kind of like grass with a little bit of dirt thrown in for color. But it should help you relax enough that we can get to the bottom of this whole mess, see what you can do and how I can help." She turned to Dean. "Get you a beer while we talk?"

Dean shook his head. "Coffee, please" he said. Trusting this woman on Bobby's say-so didn't mean letting his guard down when Joan was at stake.

Pamela didn't seem insulted, though she probably knew why Dean had made that choice. "You drink it straight, I take it?"

"Of course."

"I'll see what I can do." She sauntered away and Dean watched until she disappeared into the kitchen.

Joan kicked him in the ankle. "Cut it out. If you have sex with her it'll be icky later."

"That a technical term?" Dean grinned.

"Yes." She kicked again, a smile on her face, and this time got his shin.

"Brat."

"That's right, dorkface," she said sweetly.

Pamela came back then, two mugs in her hands. "Black coffee for handsome, something with a little kick for me," she said, sitting back down next to Joan. "That tea working for you, sweetie?"

Joan made a face. She had apparently forgotten about the somewhat nasty beverage while she was talking with Dean. Thankfully it hadn't cooled down that much. He had a feeling that it would be disgusting lukewarm. She drank it quickly, her eyes darting between Pamela and Dean, very occasionally flitting to a corner where he knew no one was standing.

"All right," Pamela said once the mug was set aside. "We'll start with a little hypnosis. Nothing too drastic, just a little glimpse into your subconscious so we can figure out exactly what's happening and how things work." She got to work right away, lulling Joan under easily now that his little sister was a bit more relaxed. "All right. Joan, can you hear me?"

"Yes," his sister said quietly, and Dean felt a chill chase up his spine at the monotone coming from her mouth.

"Good. When did you start seeing the spirits?"

"January 9th, 2004."

The date was a little startling. It was several months before the episode that ended up with her in the hospital, which meant that she'd been seeing ghosts for a lot longer than he'd suspected.

"What happened that day?" Pamela continued.

"Rocky Tardio came to me in a dream and told me to look in the paper the next day." Her voice was still that calm monotone, completely void of the emotion that Dean remembered when she'd done exactly that the next day. He'd heard the tears in her voice when she called and asked him to take her to the funeral.

"All right. When was the first time you saw a spirit when you were awake?"

"April 19, 2005. Judith Montgomery was in my bedroom when I woke up from a bad dream."

"You're doing great. What does a spirit look like to you?"

A line appeared on Joan's forehead for a moment before smoothing over. "Like a normal person. Judith and Rocky looked like they did when they were alive."

"And is there anyone else you have seen that most people don't see?"

"Mary. Chris. Catherine. Susan. God."

That last one startled Pamela for a moment. "You've seen God?"

"Yes." Joan appeared to be struggling a little now.

"How long have you been seeing God?"

"I first met Yaya when I was five years old."

Pamela sat back at that revelation, the expression on her face clearly saying something along the lines of 'oh crap.' "All right Joan, I'm going to count to three and you're going to wake up and remember this conversation. One, two, three."

At three Joan's eyes popped open, a similar expression to Pamela's on her face. "I'm not supposed to tell people that."

"It's all right, it just makes things more complicated," Pamela reassured her, though her expression was still not entirely reflecting that answer. Dean couldn't exactly blame her. Despite Helen's best efforts, he'd never really warmed to the idea of God and all of that religious crap. It was clear that Joan believed what she was saying completely and that Pamela also believed it. The psychic wouldn't have been so suddenly uncomfortable if she hadn't believed. "I can't do much about that big reveal. That's way out of my pay grade. But I can teach you some ways to shield yourself and a few things that will keep out some of the more troublesome spirits you've been seeing, as well as some things that will help you handle what you're seeing. It's all pretty boring, really, mostly meditation and focus exercises and all of that new-agey stuff."

"But it will help," Dean stated, still staring at his sister. As soon as Pamela gave them a little privacy they were going to be having words.

"It should help," the woman agreed. "We can get started right away."

xxx

In his free time, while his sister was busy becoming a hippy and learning yoga and meditation and ways to ward off hostile spirits, Dean started to flesh out the idea he'd had on the way to Pamela's house. He'd been chomping at the bit to drop his job for a while now. The politics of working with the sheriff's department were awkward at best, especially with Will working there as well, and he'd had to pass on too many hunts over the past six months. It had occurred to him that he could probably make a decent living as a private investigator, between his background in criminal justice and the skills he'd picked up as a hunter. Joan would probably be willing to work with him, possibly even help on hunts now that she knew the truth about things.

If he planned it right, he could probably even dovetail legitimate investigations with hunts and manage to basically get paid for hunting. The thought of that made him smile.

When he finally mentioned his idea to Joan, as casually as he could manage, she was lukewarm at first. She was still clinging to the hope of going back to school someday, but Dean was pretty sure that hope was fading. Her focus was getting better, no question about that, but she would always be able to see what others didn't see. A normal life would always be difficult for his sister, much less one in the public eye as a lawyer.

Dean had to get Joan completely onboard with the idea to make it happen because Helen was going to hate it. It wasn't college, for one thing, and to make it work they'd need to be a little more centrally located than Maryland. He was thinking Chicago or Indianapolis, personally, and both of those were a fair distance from Arcadia. Will would be right behind his wife in disliking this particular plan, and Dean was reasonably certain that none of his other siblings, including Sammy, would be big fans of it either. He would need Joan's complete cooperation and support, and therefore he needed to convince her that this was what was best for both of them.

He started small and subtle, for him, dragging her out for a weekend to Chicago to celebrate that she was slightly less manic than she had been two weeks ago. There was a lot of ground to cover in that city, especially some rumors that a lot of hinky stuff went down but that someone outside of the hunting network took care of it. Dean made sure to take his time when building his case, working up to the proposal the whole weekend.

It was something he didn't really need to bother with. Joan picked up on what he was doing, possibly before they left Pamela's house, and let him twist in the wind until the drive home. "Once I'm a little more prepared for things, you can start setting up shop in Chicago," she said, giving him a smirk. "Someone else already convinced me that it was a good idea."

"Who?" Dean couldn't think of a single person who was on his side when it came to this arrangement.

She gave him a raised-eyebrow look. "Who do you think?"

He racked his brain for a few seconds before he caught on. "Oh."

"Yeah, exactly. Apparently you need someone to keep you out of trouble and God decided that was my job."

"I'm pretty sure it's the other way around," Dean protested.

"Whatever," she sighed. "Chicago, once I've gotten in a little more practice at blocking things out. I'll run the business stuff and you'll do the detective part. And you get to be the one to tell Mom."

xxx

Their home base might have technically been in Chicago, but they weren't in the office often enough that it mattered. Joan kept track of most of those details, paying the utilities and the rent online and keeping track of their clients on the computer. She was surprisingly efficient at those kinds of things, especially considering she'd never worked a real job before this. Dean didn't count her work at the bookstore. Her boss there didn't really care about much as long as she kept the shelves stocked and didn't steal from the till. It was even more mystifying when factoring in that she ran their small business from her laptop using free wifi in coffee shops and motels.

Dean did most of the actual investigating, at least most of the things that might put either one of them in danger. That was done on purpose, to keep Helen from completely losing it over this whole situation. Joan was supposed to go to college and have a nice, safe job in an office somewhere. This was not part of the plan and it was difficult for the woman to let it go.

They were in a small town in Indiana, mopping up a hunt that he'd found that had coincided nicely with a piece of work for a company who was looking for a little more in-depth background on a potential employee. Dean had been making sure that all traces of the changelings were gone and the children were all safely home while Joan hit the pavement and tracked down the people mentioned on the man's resume to see if they had, in fact, recommended him and if they had any sort of background information they might need to share. Joan had begged to meet up for lunch at the small coffee shop just off the square, the kind of local place that catered to college students from the area. She had a weakness for those coffee shops, a holdover from her brief college days and whenever there was an opportunity Dean gave into that particular craving. His sister had a hard enough life most of the time. It wouldn't hurt to indulge her on something that didn't really matter to him.

She was sitting in her regular type of spot, the one that made his heart feel all warm and fuzzy: close to the door, but not immediately visible from outside, tucked away from prying eyes. That was a direct result of his training and he couldn't help but feel glad that she was still following those particular lessons. Then he circled around a little further and saw that she wasn't alone.

At first he thought this might be one of her more special visitors, the ones that made him more uncomfortable than any ghost could possibly top, but her expression was a little too guarded for that. When he circled around to get a better look at the guy's face he recognized the expression, if not the face. This was just a guy who was trying to pick up Dean's little sister.

He wasn't having much success, if Joan's amused smile was anything to go by. She hadn't seriously dated anyone since Adam Rove and it didn't seem like that was going to change anytime soon. As Joan liked to put it, she had a lot of unbelievable issues and an overprotective family, so she might end up dying a spinster at this rate. Dean was strangely comfortable with that idea.

He decided to take care of the problem in the most expedient way possible: he sauntered over to the table, kissed Joan on the cheek, took a drink from her cup and sat down next to her. Joan pulled her coffee in closer, protecting it from his grasp. "Go get your own," she told him.

"Yours is right here," he pointed out, turning his attention to the guy at the table. "Who the hell are you?"

The jackass trying to pick up his baby sister made an odd sound in his throat. Dean wasn't sure if it was an aborted attempt at an introduction, or just a reaction to realizing that there was no way in hell he was getting anywhere near this girl in the way he wanted. He was gone before Dean could clarify.

Joan gave him an oblique look. "I'm never going to have a boyfriend, am I?"

"Probably not." He made another play for her coffee cup only to be denied. "I'm going to get a cup of real coffee. You almost done here?"

"Get the coffee to go," Joan said, closing her laptop and tucking it into her messenger bag. "I've got a couple of potential cases that we'll talk about someplace that isn't the middle of a coffee shop."

xxx

Dean walked into the motel room with peace offering coffee to find his sister packing their belongings. The fact that she was packing the weapons duffle was enough to make him set the cups down on the now-vacant table. Joan wasn't terribly comfortable with most of the weaponry, especially the guns, and though she knew how to use and maintain them, she didn't often handle them unless it was absolutely necessary. "What happened?"

"Sam's in trouble," she said, stepping away from the task as he moved in. "At least, he will be if we don't get there soon." It was obvious that the argument they'd been having earlier was forgotten, although the coffee would be a welcome addition.

"What kind of trouble?" Dean finished storing the weapons with brisk efficiency while Joan shrugged into her jacket and reached for her coffee. "What's coming after him?"

"He's not in danger," Joan said quietly, her dark eyes looking up from the cup in her hands. "Not directly, anyway. Jess is. Something is going to come to their apartment and there's going to be a fire."

A chill ran up his spine and Dean ruthlessly suppressed the shiver that should have accompanied it. Even after almost a year of this, it still freaked him out a little when Joan pulled the prophetess act. He wasn't deep in the hunter community, not like his father had apparently been, but he'd met enough of them to know that this alone would be enough to get her killed. He put that thought aside and concentrated on her words. "The same thing that got my mom?"

Her focus shifted to his left. "Mary doesn't know," she said, shrugging. "She was killed by a demon with yellow eyes. She says its possible that the thing is after Sam or . . .something." Joan turned back to Dean. "Your mom is going to watch over Sam. We need to get going if we're going to get there in time."

"All right then," said Dean, zipping up the weapons bag and picking up his own duffle. Joan grabbed her own bag and both coffee cups, juggling them a little awkwardly until she could sling the strap over her shoulder. "Can you check us out of the room and call Mrs. Grant?"

Joan nodded. "I'll call from the car."

xxx

He waited until they were on the road, since the spirits that trailed after his sister seemed to find the confines of the Impala . . . uncomfortable. Besides, that way she had a chance to call the client and give up what information they'd managed to dig up about the location of her ex-husband. "What didn't you say earlier?" he asked once her cell was closed and tucked into her bag.

Joan sighed and looked up from the notebook on her lap. "You won't like it," she said, her voice quiet.

"I usually don't."

There was a nod, Joan accepting this as fact. "I think Mary knows something more about what's happening now, and about what happened to her."

"You think my mom knows about what killed her?" His disbelief was almost palpable.

"She knows something," Joan said, stressing the last word. "I don't know if she knew it before she died, but your mom knows something that she isn't telling us."

Dean took a few moments to mull that over while his sister sipped her cooling coffee and wrote madly in her notebook. People often underestimated what Joan noticed because she was so young for their world and didn't have the sharp, harsh edges of most hunters, but she was almost as good as he was at reading people and putting together the pieces from what she saw. She would have made a damned good cop. "Any theories?" he finally asked.

She set her pen down and took a deep breath. "I see guilt when Mary looks at you, sometimes. Like she could have prevented something. I don't know what it means, not yet, but that's what I see."

The silence that followed her statement was more contemplative than anything else. Truth be told, Dean had come up with a similar theory based on a few things he'd turned over in the past few years. Mary Winchester had once been Mary Campbell, daughter of two hunters that Bobby had heard of back in his early days of hunting. Dean Winchester believed in a whole hell of a lot of things, but coincidence wasn't one of them.

He cleared his throat and changed the topic. "So, seven hours until we get there. Maybe you could fill me in a little on what to look out for?"

xxx

Sam's apartment was a few blocks away from the main campus, on the second floor of a renovated home from the turn of the century. No one was home when Dean guided the Impala into a parking space across the street, and Sam didn't answer his phone when they called, so Dean made his sister get in a little lock-picking experience.

He'd done a little basic warding on the place when Sam had first moved in, using some tricks he'd picked up from Bobby to try and make the place safe like he'd done on the Girardi house as soon as he got back, but he'd learned a lot since then. Pamela had taught them both quite a bit during Joan's little apprenticeship, and he'd been forced by necessity to find even more esoteric and discrete methods of protection when they'd left the safety net of Pamela's house. The two of them applied those things to the apartment when they got inside. Sam would be pissed if Jess noticed that anything had been done. He didn't like it when this kind of weirdness bled over into his happy, stable life.

When they were done Joan sat down on the couch, small hands toying with her ever-present notebook. They were shaking slightly, which worried Dean a little. Joan was riding on adrenaline and caffeine and would crash soon. "It'll go down here, right?"

She nodded. "The darkness wants Sam," she said. "It wants Sam on the same path your father took. My dad finding you wasn't part of the plan. It's trying to put things back the way they used to be."

"Was Sam safe as long as he was at the Girardi's?"

"You both are," she said confidently. "I was promised."

"That's why it's after Jess. The darkness thinks he'll react in the exact same way. Can you think of a way to get Jess and Sam to fly out to Arcadia today?"

She shook her head. "Does Sam know about your second job?"

"He won't listen. He hangs up the phone anytime I even hint at the supernatural." Sam had never been told everything, but he'd put together a few bits and pieces from their childhood and his memories of their dad. It had apparently been enough to turn him off of the idea of the supernatural entirely. His brother was far more skeptical than any member of the Girardi family except Will. Even Luke liked to err on the side of caution and allow for the possibility of more than he could really understand.

Joan sat up and turned toward the door without warning, her eyes focusing on a spot just to the left of the door. "Something's here," she said.

"What's here?"

"Not Sam or Jess. Something dark. Not the thing that Mary knows about, but similar."

"Does it know we're here?"

She looked back to the area surrounding the door. "I don't think so. Mary thinks it's waiting for Sam to show up."

"Perfect. Can it get through the wards?"

"Probably." She grimaced at the thought. Dean stood up and headed to the door, shivering slightly when he hit a cold spot that was probably his mother and definitely not something he was going to think about right now. He stood there and listened, trying to figure out what was out there waiting to eat them now. It would be sad if it wasn't so familiar.

There was a creaking sound from a floorboard in the hall and Dean tensed, his hand going to the weapon at his hip. The seconds ticked by with an aching slowness as he waited for the thing to make a move.

Joan exhaled, the sound a little shaky. "It's gone."

"This is shaping up to be all kinds of fun," Dean said, his tone biting. "Take a nap, brat. I'll wake you if something happens, but you're hanging onto things by your fingernails. Whatever it is, it's not going to make a move until Sam shows up. I'll wake you up then."

She shook her head. "There's no time." Her hands tightened on her notebook. "It's coming now. We have to be ready."

"What, right now?" She nodded and Dean cursed. "Call Sam. Say whatever you need to say to get him and Jess here."

"I don't think they're safe here."

"I don't think they're safe anywhere," Dean countered. "Not if this thing is gunning specifically for Sam. But they're really not safe if they don't even know what's coming or what to do about it."

"We don't know specifically what's coming," she pointed out.

"Darkness with its eye on Sam," Dean said promptly. "There's a good chance that means demon. That means we lay down devil's traps. We know a hell of a lot more about this kind of thing than Sam does."

"What if it's something else?"

Dean sighed. "Then we'll take care of it, brat. Stop freaking out. You'll give yourself wrinkles."

She huffed as she dug her cell phone out of her bag and hit speed dial. "'You'll give yourself wrinkles,'" she mimicked back at him while she waited for Sam to answer. "Hey, Geek," she said once Sam answered. "Dean and I are at your apartment. Can you come and let us in?"

Dean rolled his eyes and gathered up their bags so that they could head back out into the hallway. He supposed Joan was right and that Sam really shouldn't know that they broke into his place, but he wasn't crazy about going out from behind the safety of the walls, especially since something was gunning for Sam and could easily take them out while they were waiting.

Joan hung up the phone after a few more teasing remarks to their brother. "He still hasn't proposed to Jess," she said, slipping the phone back into her messenger bag. Normally Dean would have been all over that information, but right now he was a little more concerned with his brother's safety than whether or not he'd finally manned up.

They waited until Joan got an all-clear from her ghosts and then stepped out into the hallway. Sam must have been pretty close, because they barely had time to get the door relocked when Sam and Jess started up the steps.

Jess looked a little tipsy, which was understandable. The two of them had probably been out celebrating Halloween in true college fashion. Joan popped over for a hug as soon as they cleared the stairs, but Dean hung back and just watched. He and Sam weren't really the type to hug unless it was something big, with Joan and Helen being the only real exceptions to the rule.

"Not that I'm not glad to see you, but why are you guys here?" Sam asked as he unlocked the door, frowning a little as he looked at it. Dean grimaced; Joan hadn't been terribly careful and there were probably signs of forced entry.

"Just finished up a case and we were kind of close, and Joan here missed her big geek brother," Dean said. It wasn't anywhere close to the truth, not really, but they could argue with him once they were in his apartment and at least behind a few wards. It wasn't perfect, but it was something that would hopefully keep them all alive.

Sam held the door open for Jess and then Joan and Dean before stepping through and closing it firmly behind him. Dean relaxed very slightly once they were behind the closed door, even though he knew they weren't really safe. Joan was following Jess further into the apartment, oohing and aahing like she hadn't just seen the place five minutes earlier, and Sam pulled Dean aside. "Is she still sick?"

"She's fine," Dean said, a little defensive. Joan wasn't quite back to where she had been; she was still much too thin and nervous and she had a hard time interacting with the ghosts she saw without people around her thinking she was weird. "I hear you still haven't sealed the deal with Jess."

His brother rolled his eyes. "I'm waiting for the right moment."

"Sure you are, you giant girl." Dean grinned, having successfully distracted Sam from worrying about Joan. There was no point to that. She would adapt, eventually.

There was a knock at the door and Sam was there before Dean could stop him, opening the door and greeting some guy that practically had 'douchebag' stamped on his forehead. "Hey, Brady. Now's not really a good time."

"Sorry about that, Sam," the guy said, stepping into the room and gesturing with one hand. Dean couldn't quite contain the startled yell when he felt something shove him back against the wall and hold him there.

Joan ran into the room, Jess at her heels. "Dean? Sam?"

It gestured again, a malicious, nasty smile on its' borrowed face. Joan had a moment of confusion before her face hardened into understanding and determination, and she planted her feet and glared at it.

The thing's pitch-black eyes were staring at Joan with something close to fascination, which made Dean want to curse and kick and punch it in the face. He'd been worried that something like this would happen. Joan hadn't really had much interaction with anything besides ghosts when it came to the creepy, fugly side of the tracks. There had been a shapeshifter last month, and something that they'd never entirely identified acting as Jenny Greenteeth out of a lake in Minnesota, but for the most part he was making sure she cut her teeth on salt-and-burns, though sometimes she managed to talk the ghosts down instead. Dean had made sure to keep his sister far away from witches and anything that even hinted at demons because he wasn't sure if they'd be able to pick up the God-thing. It looked like he was right to worry.

It had tried to do something to her when she'd stepped in front of Jessica, no doubt some variation on flinging her across the room with its mind since that was what it had done to both him and Sam. He had a feeling that it wasn't exactly creative when it came to those kinds of things. Joan apparently hadn't felt anything from it, though she was grimacing in disgust so she was probably picking up something else instead. It tried again, this time adding a flick of its fingers, and once again failed. Dean couldn't help but chuckle. If the moron had just gone up to her, he could probably physically overpower her. Joan had a modicum of self-defense training, both from a class her first semester at college and a martial arts class she'd taken when she was eleven because all of her brothers were doing it, but she was only five foot five and still skinny as hell from when all of this began. It wouldn't take much to overpower her.

Instead, the thing wrapped up in a douchebag fratboy kept trying the same tricks over and over again. It was between the girls and the door, unfortunately, but Joan was trying to angle Jess toward the window instead. There was nothing wrong with his sister's escape instincts. With a high-strung family like the Girardi's, knowing when to get out of the room quickly was a valued survival technique.

Dean racked his brain as he tried to stand up once again, but he was fairly certain his leg was broken. He'd never gone up against a demon of any kind, but Bobby had taught him enough to read the signs and he was fairly certain he was facing one right now. "Christo," he called out, and the thing flinched and turned to him. Well, that was the identification problem solved.

On the plus side, he'd managed to distract it from pursuing Joan and Jessica and the two of them should manage to get out. There was bound to be a crowd out there now, and possibly police. He doubted the thing wanted that kind of publicity, so as long as Joan kept them surrounded by people they would be safe.

"Regna terrae, cantate Deo," he heard Joan say, and the demon whipped back around to face her. Jess was climbing out of the window behind her, no doubt pushed that way by his sister, but Joan was standing with her fists clenched and a mule-stubborn expression on her face. "psallite Domino qui fertis super caelum caeli ad Orientem Ecce dabit voci Suae vocem virtutis, tribuite virtutem Deo. " There was a pause, Joan looking off to the side, and the thing managed to get a step closer before she started up again. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. " Another pause, and Dean abruptly realized that one of the ghosts, probably Mary Winchester, was feeding Joan the exorcism she was reciting. That was a risky proposition without a trap of some kind, from what he remembered. He'd never actually done an exorcism before, only heard about it from Bobby, but it was obvious that was exactly what he was hearing now. She started talking more quickly, the words stumbling out but apparently correct. "Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te. Cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare." The thing was twitching now, trying to get closer to her, but apparently the words caused it enough pain to keep it from getting there. Joan kept moving as well, her eyes on the empty space of the ghost in the room. It meant that the thing never got near her, and it got further away from him and Sam. Dean wanted to move over there and check his brother, but he didn't dare take his attention from Joan's little stageshow. "Vade, Satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis. Humiliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine, quem inferi tremunt. " The thing was screaming now, trying desperately to drown out her voice, but Dean could still hear her. Sam was starting to stir on the floor and Dean squirmed over closer, ignoring the pain as much as he could. Sam couldn't interrupt what was happening now. "Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine. Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos. Ut inimicos sanctae Ecclesiae humiliare digneris, te rogamus, audi nos. " Joan faltered for a second when it switched from simple screaming to vicious, barbed taunts about her relationships with Dean and Sam, but she caught herself and continued, the final words pouring out in a rush. "Ut inimicos sanctae Ecclesiae te rogamus, audi nos. Terribilis Deus de sanctuario suo. Deus Israhel ipse truderit virtutem et fortitudinem plebi Suae. Benedictus Deus. Gloria Patri."

Sam's friend's mouth opened in a cracking sound that made him wince and a cloud of purple-black smoke rushed out, crackling with energy, and disappeared through the floor. The body dropped to the ground like a dropped toy. Joan rushed past him and knelt down next to the two of them. "I've got Sam," he told her, a little roughly. "Is that guy still alive?"

"No," she said, staring at a space behind them for a second. "Brady says he hasn't been alive for a while, but he couldn't move on while that thing was using his body."

It was a relief in some ways, but it would be headache-inducing for the immediate future. At least the guy was free and he wouldn't have to pay for the shit that the demon did in his name.

Out in the living room of the apartment the door crashed in. "We're in here," Joan cried out. Sam was starting to come around now, though he was clearly very confused. Two uniforms swept into the room first, weapons held ready, but it didn't take long before the paramedics rolled in behind them.

The immediate aftermath was more than a little confusing now that he didn't have impending danger to keep his mind focused through the pain. He managed to pick up that Jess was safe and alive and fine, if a little confused and traumatized by this whole mess. That was a good start, since it had been the main focus of their showdown in the first place. Joan was shaking with adrenaline and showing signs of going into shock and Dean had to talk her into letting the paramedics take her along to the hospital with the rest of them. It was frighteningly easy for him to do, which meant that his sister might have something seriously wrong that she wasn't sharing.

Jess had already promised to call Will and Helen and let them know what had happened, at least the parts they would be able to handle. By tomorrow evening they would be overrun with family. Tonight, though, Dean would let the paramedics do their job and glory in the fact that all of his siblings came through the whole mess alive.


End file.
